Witnesses: The Caspianic Wars, Book One
by Gaia was Framed
Summary: It wasn't that we didn't believe in Aslan. Perhaps he didn't believe in us. We're not the Pevensies. We're those four "other" kids, the ones who failed Narnia. We beg forgiveness. AU only because it does not follow canon timeline. CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. WILL REOPEN SOON.
1. Note and Preface

**AN: **A lot of reviewers have pointed out a canon error: in the books, there is a gap of nearly a thousand years between the end of the Narnian Golden Age and the Telmarine invasion. In this story, the invasion takes place within a couple years of the Pevensies' disappearance—otherwise there would be no plot.

The amount of time between the two events is never actually stated in the novels; it comes from a timeline that C.S. Lewis gave to an editor. The authenticity of this timeline, though widely accepted, has been questioned by some who think the editor may have tinkered with it.

I am of the opinion that it must not be entirely canon. The timeline is in many places inconsistent with the text of the books (e.g. if Jill and Eustace were born in 1933 and _The Last Battle _takes place in 1949 Earth time, they are both sixteen years old, and Tirian, being barely any older, can't go around calling them "children") and in other places simply doesn't make sense. Why would the Telmarines wait nearly a millennium to invade Narnia? I can think of no satisfactory reason.

That said, this story is only classified as AU because it doesn't use the canon timeline. I tried to make everything else as canon-friendly as possible.

I will also warn you that this story occasionally discusses dark topics such as prejudice and bullying. They are included to reflect the worldview of the 1940s—ignoring the ugly parts of history can't undo them. We can only learn from our mistakes. I hope my use of them is not too heavy-handed.

I hope this note clarifies any further confusion and that you enjoy the story.

**Final Disclaimer: **It should be fairly self-evident by now that I am not C.S. Lewis (may he rest in peace). If I were, this story would be a lot better, and most likely not published on Fan Fiction dot net. ~GwF

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_There once were four kids who stumbled into a wardrobe, discovered it was a portal to another world, vanquished evil, and lead a noble country into a decade of prosperity and cultural growth._

_ We are not them._

_ We're the four kids who stumbled into a wardrobe (or some other similar object), discovered it was a portal to another world, got vanquished by evil, and unwillingly lead a noble country into centuries of bondage and oppression._

_ We've been told that the stars were aligned against us, and that's true. We did our best for Narnia._

_ But Aslan was gone, saving some other universe._

_ And so we lost._

_ We're writing this down because we owe it to all those who died in the Caspianic War. There was no other world for them to run to. We will never forget them._

_ We're also recording this because, as horrifying as our experience was, we must preserve the memories while they're fresh. The time will come when this information needs to be known…_


	2. I: One Last Look

Chapter I.

ONE LAST LOOK

"It's terribly unfair that everyone else is so happy now," wailed Robin.

"They're happy because the War is over," Anna murmured in reply.

"We're glad for that too," said Ben, clearly not meaning his words.

"Are we really?" Kitt inquired.

Rain fell hard, making everything in the suburb look and feel miserable.

Almost as if to spite the torrent, cheery posters of returning veterans and lovely patriotic women lined the streets. _Hurray for the U.S.A.!_ They shouted in giant letters. _Hurray for the Allies! Hurray for our fine American boys! We did it! We won! Victory! Victory!_

"Victory?" Kitt scoffed. "What about us? What about all the other kids like us? For us this is torture."

"Not for the country it isn't," Anna scolded sadly. "Even we must rejoice for that."

"Why?" asked Robin, who was on the verge of tears for the hundredth time that day. His voice shook. With all the raindrops on his face, his siblings might have supposed he was already crying. They couldn't blame him.

The four of them continued to shuffle down the street in their rain slickers. Water soaked through their snow boots. All the rubber rain boots in town had been melted down for the army long ago.

"Because," Anna said, "if not for the sacrifices our troops have made, no one in the world would be free. You know this. We've had this conversation many times, Robert Kilburn Junior."

"What do we care?" grumbled Kitt.

Anna raised her voice. "Which would you rather have, sis? Your freedom? Or would you rather live under Hitler, but—" she broke off, unable to say the dreadful words.

"—or would you rather have our parents back?" Kitt finished.

A short silence followed that felt like a century.

"I know which I'd choose," stated Ben at last, eyes on the stormclouds above.

"So do I," said Kitt, watching chalk sketches bleed off the sidewalk.

"So do I," Robin whimpered. He looked at his sisters and brother. They seemed so solid, even in the downpour, like tall old trees or pillars of stone.

So do I, Anna thought. Her eyes were closed.

…**..**

The Kilburn house was empty. All the personal belongings of the four siblings or their deceased parents had been sold, given away, lost or packed for the move. (All but one).

"When does the train leave again?" asked Ben miserably.

"Four o'clock," said Kitt. A giant tear splattered on the surface of her wristwatch.

"We've got half an hour, then," Anna sighed. With her eyes' memory she took in the dingy wallpaper, the old teal sofa, the round table in the dining room which had radiated so much joy before the illness took Mom and the war took Dad.

Robin snuck away from the others. Through the kitchen he went, out the back door, and up the outdoor staircase that was the spinal cord of the house. At the top of these steps were another deck and a door leading inside. Robin turned the doorknob.

On the creaky old wooden floor of the attic he stood, water sliding off his raincoat to make a moat around his feet.

He sniffled, but suppressed the urge to cry. They'd hear him sobbing from downstairs and would run up to comfort him. He knew what kind of discussion would ensue once they saw where he was and what he was looking at.

He stared with wet, salty eyes at that wardrobe.

Cautiously he ran his hands across the carvings on its door: humans, animals, and mythical combinations thereof serenely gazing up into the boughs of a majestic tree which softened the sun's rays instead of blocking them. One figure was Robin's particular favorite—the great Lion, whose presence overpowered even that of the tree.

_O Aslan,_ he thought, _I can survive anything—even losing my parents and moving across the ocean—if I've got you on my side. Please, please just give me a sign. Let me know that you were real. I doubt I'll ever see you again. I can't take this wardrobe with me._

**...**

Robin had been five years old when his mother died. She was a small woman, with freckles and red hair, like him. His sole memory of her was of her pushing him on the swing that hung from a tree in the park across the street. She'd succumbed to pneumonia.

But he remembered the rainy March day not unlike this November one, when his father's war-mangled corpse was flown home, with painful clarity.

Dr. Robert Kilburn Sr. had been gunned down while giving a painkiller to a dying man somewhere in France.

The funeral had been a small, simple event in the little Church of St. John the Baptist. Robin's dad was laid to rest among his relatives, all of whom predeceased him, and the town's other Irish Catholics who had passed on.

If Robin closed his eyes he could see the wind whipping through the grey sky, scattering last autumn's leaves around the tombstones and into the six-foot-deep hole dug for his father's coffin.

He wished he'd known about the wardrobe then. Talking to the Narnians—or better still, to the Lion—might have eased his pain.

Robin knew his siblings worried about him, that Anna especially got horribly nervous if he ever mentioned his "attic adventure" even in passing.

They knew he wasn't a liar or tale-teller, but maybe they thought he was losing his marbles from the grief of losing Dad and the fear of moving in with his Great-Aunt Mary all the way in England.

_Please don't let me be crazy, Aslan,_ Robin silently prayed.

Absently he wondered why no one had bought the wardrobe when the rest of the furniture was sold, and what might've happened if somebody had.

_One more look,_ he told himself. _Just to make sure._

He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving the door open just a crack behind him; for Robin understood, like all sensible people do, that it is very stupid to shut yourself in a wardrobe, whether or not it's a magic one.


	3. II: Aslan's Warning

_Chapter II._

ASLAN'S WARNING

Three steps into the stuffy darkness he walked.

_I must've imagined the whole thing,_ he thought bitterly. _This isn't a magic portal to anywhere. It's just a piece of wood._

He stood still a moment, miserable and wet to the bone…and heard beaching waves and crying gulls very close by.

_It IS real after all!_

He began to run.

Now the surface he walked on was sandy. Before him lay a hole in the darkness pouring light, like the mouth of a subway tunnel. As Robin got closer to the cave mouth he could see an endless expanse of blazing blue, the sky and sea together.

As last he was out of the cave, under the sunlight.

Robin looked over his shoulder just to check. Sure enough, far back within the dark, was a thin rod of rainy grey light—the attic of his house.

He could get back easily, and stay as long as he wanted—because, no matter how long he stayed here, no time would pass at home.(He'd learned this after his first trip here; he'd stayed for a Narnian week, which had registered as one minute and thirty-two seconds on the kitchen wall clock).

Robin also knew that when he left the wardrobe he'd be exactly as he'd been when he stepped inside, down to the knots in his shoelaces. So he shed his raincoat, leaky boots and soaked socks on a rock outcropping.

He strolled down the beach, letting the salt breeze comb his hair. His feet had been horribly cold and sore when he'd stepped in, but the white-hot sand and bath-temperature waves were just what the doctor ordered.

Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked up to his left, where Cair Paravel, the capitol city and building, sat carved out of the tall cliffs.

"Well, here I am, back in Narnia," he mused aloud. "What should I do now?"

No sooner had he spoken then he realized he was not alone.

The creature was large—taller than him—and powerfully built. Its great eyes were pools of amber, its fur and mane brighter gold than anything in Robin's dull world.

"Aslan!" he stammered, stepping back and bowing clumsily. "I'm so sorry! I was lost in my thoughts and I didn't see you there. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, son of Adam," said the Lion gravely in his deep, regal voice. "I, too, know what it is to grieve."

"Thank you, sir," Robin murmured, feeling tears well in his eyes again.

"Come," said Aslan. "Walk with me."

Robin never thought of disobeying.

"Aslan, my sisters and brother and I are moving very far away. I won't be able to use the wardrobe in the attic anymore. So, will I ever visit Narnia again? Will I ever see you again?"

Aslan took a long time to answer. His steps were slow and heavy, his big head bowed.

"You will come back to Narnia very soon, son of Adam," he said at last. "In fact, Narnia will have great need of you upon your return. But I fear I will not set foot in this happy land for many of their years. There are other places I must go, other peoples who need my help. While I am gone, darkness may fall on Narnia."

Some strange courage flared in Robin at these words, and he asked, "Aslan, if it's ok with you, might I protect Narnia while you're gone? Like those kids who helped you kill the Witch, the reigning Kings and Queens?"

The Lion fixed the boy with those amber eyes that were worlds in themselves and replied: "I was hoping you would say that, Robert Kilburn. I see I made the right choice. Already you are growing."

Robin didn't know what that meant, but he did know that Aslan never gave praise lightly, and his heart was glad.

They walked in silence for a while.

"Aslan, why are some worlds happy while others are miserable?" Robin asked suddenly. "Every time I come to Narnia I can feel its joy. Back in my world there's nothing but war and death."

"There is death and suffering here, too, son of Adam. All worlds are burdened by them, save my own Country." From somewhere deep in Aslan's throat came a strange but pleasant noise: a Lion's chuckle. "Nor is dying the worst fate that can befall you. I've done it myself."

Robin was tempted to inquire further, but he knew that if Aslan wanted him to know something, he would tell him. "Am I going to die?" the boy asked.

Suddenly the shadow of the cliffs seemed longer and darker.

Aslan did not answer the question. "Here comes your guide," he stated. "Stay with her and no harm will come to you. I must leave now. Remember this conversation, Robert Kilburn."

With that he vanished.

Robin looked up to see a thin, small figure, human or at least humanoid, running along the sand toward him.

…

Within three feet of Robin she stopped.

"Well met!" she panted, and bowed.

"Well met indeed," he replied, bowing himself.

"Are you a Narnian?" she asked.

Robin shook his head. If he lied and said he was, his unfamiliarity with cultural minutiae—not to mention how he spoke—would expose him as a liar. However, there was no point in telling this girl he came from another universe. She'd think he was crazy, or maybe the idea of a door between worlds not far from where they stood would scare her, as it scared his siblings.

What sort of person was she, anyway?

She was about his sister Kitt's age (thirteen) or a little older. Her skin glowed deep gold in the sunlight, darker than most of the Narnians Robin had seen on his previous visit. She had large amber-brown eyes under thick dark brows; her hair was long, thick, shiny and jet-black. She spoke with a clipped, proper British accent.

_She's probably at least half Calormene,_ he reasoned. On his first adventure here he'd learned that Calormen was a country far to Narnia's south; vastly larger, richer and more powerful. Usually the two countries didn't get along. Regardless of the girl's allegiances, it was probably safest not to say he came from Calormen, whether or not he looked like a Calormene (he didn't).

There were also the Lone Islands, Narnian properties several leagues out to sea, but the Islanders were dark and curly-haired and their speech patterns sounded Italian. There was no potential political danger in being an Islander (so far as Robin knew) but he could never pass himself off as one.

He was vaguely aware of a few other territories. Giants and sorcerers prowled the unmapped Northern Wasteland, so obviously that was out. The Narnian-owned Seven Isles were off the Northern coast and the kingdom of Telmar far to the West, but Robin didn't know that he'd ever seen a Telmarine or someone from the Isles, so he didn't know if he could pass as one of them. Besides, he wasn't sure whether Telmarines were friendly to Narnians.

He remembered one more country; the ally of Narnia; a hardy, mountainous place separated from Calormen by a conveniently large, dry desert. The people of this mountain kingdom were generally fair, freckled and flushed.

"I come from Archenland, my lady," Robin said, slipping the vaguely Australian drawl of an Archenlander into his voice. "From where do you come?" He bowed again.

A shadow crossed the girl's face.

"I was born in Calavar province in Calormen. Now my days are spent in Archenland or Narnia, and I have no wish to return to the land of my fathers. What is your name?"

Robin strained for the vaguely Australian-sounding drawl of an Archenlander when he answered, "I'm Robin son of Bram, my lady." _O Aslan, please let Bram be a common men's name in Archenland._ He bowed again.

"Enough with the bowing and scraping," the girl barked. Robin stood up straight at once.

"There are no slaves in Narnia," she continued, "or in Archenland or any of the Islands owned between them. Courtesy is good; servility is not. You can't be a slave (unless you ran away from Calormen like I did) so don't act like one! We are all equals in the eyes of the Lion."

Although a bit frightened by her sudden vehemence, Robin was relieved by her words. He was American, after all, growing up in a hyper-patriotic era. The medieval "bowing and scraping" that some Narnians required had never agreed with him.

The girl grabbed his hand and shook it. "Well met, Robin son of Bram. I am Aravis, once called a Tarkheena. Come with me. I think the court would like to see you."

Without releasing his hand, she pulled him along toward great steps hewn out of the cliff, leading up to the palaces of the Narnian capitol, Cair Paravel, and some new adventure.


	4. III: The Nations Behind the Door

_Chapter III._

THE NATIONS BEHIND THE DOOR

Robin had been soaked to the skin when he first came through the wardrobe. By the time he and Aravis reached the palace gates, the steady sunlight and warm air had dried him, but he badly needed to find a bathroom.

The Narnians might have been quite medieval in other respects, but their sanitation was pleasingly modern.

As he washed his hands in the fountain provided for that purpose, he was joined by a large (about two feet high), lovely rabbit, with thick velvety chocolate-brown fur and ears that waved like tall grasses in the direction of the tiniest noise. The rabbit stood on his hind feet, washing his front paws much as Robin washed his hands. The rabbit wore a little rapier at his side, and a tiny bow with a quiver of doll-sized (but no doubt deadly) arrows was strapped to his back.

When the rabbit noticed Robin observing him he dried his front paws on his furry flanks and bowed low.

"Welcome to Narnia, son of Adam," he said in a soft, prim, snuffly voice. He had the vaguely Irish lilt and traces of Scottish _r_ rolling that identified the speaker as Narnian, be they human, bird or beast. "What strange world sent you here?"

"I'm…f-f-from Archenland," stammered Robin, sounding very American and not at all Archenlandish.

"If that's how an Archenlander talks, then I'm half Horse," replied the Rabbit smartly. "Besides, Archenlanders' eyes don't fall out of their skulls when an animal speaks to them. Some of us live there too. They've seen it before."

_He should've seen me the first time I came and those Beavers came over and kept offering me fish and chips,_ thought Robin. The Rabbit's paw rested on the hilt of his sword, but Robin could detect no malice on the creature's face, only curiosity.

"Well, okay then," the boy said. "What's your name?" He wanted to befriend these Narnians, right? He might as well ask.

"I am Sir Macurdey Tallears, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion."

"My name is Robin Kilburn. You were right about me."

He looked around the room to make sure they were alone, then bent and whispered to the root of the Rabbit's ear: "I'm from another world—one where the animals don't talk; not the same language as the humans, at any rate."

"Have you been summoned here?"

Robin paused to consider. "Sort of. Aravis the Calormene met me wandering on the beach and thought the court would like a look at me."

"Son of Adam, it matters little why you came to Cair Paravel. I'm more concerned with how you left your own world and entered ours."

"Through a door."

"Do you know of Aslan, human child?" Macurdey's ears flopped slightly when he named the Lion. Robin guessed it was an indication of reverence, not unlike a human crossing themselves or bowing their heads back where he came from.

"Yes. I have spoken with him twice—once today, the other time the first time I came."

"Was he the first person you met in Narnia?"

"He was, both times."

"Then, if you speak truthfully, I believe he has summoned you, and you must be here to do good. If you'd been called by some shady sorcerer, we'd have to make sure you were up to no mischief. What was happening when you came here last?"

"The coronation of Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. How long ago was that?"

"Fifteen years. Time must run much slower in your world; you look a good deal younger than fifteen."

"I'll be ten in two months." (He wondered how old Macurdey was but thought it rude to ask).

"Come with me, little son of Adam," said the Rabbit. "You look like you need a carrot, and there's the nicest vegetable stall in the town square—"

He left the room, Robin following.

The boy wondered: if Aslan has summoned me, what do I need to do?

He recalled today's conversation with the Lion, which seemed even more ominous as evening drew slowly but steadily on.

Aslan was leaving.

Narnia was in danger.

And he, Robin Kilburn the Second, just might die.

…**.**

The vegetable stall in the marketplace was indeed very nice. Macurdey bought two giant carrots, one for himself and one for Robin.

"The vegetables here don't talk or anything, do they?" the boy asked warily.

"By the Lion, of course not! The Trees are people here, and some of the flowers, but Aslan never burdened vegetables with speech or thought. If they could do those things they wouldn't be vegetables. Trust me, son of Adam, no Narnian would so glibly sell, purchase or eat the carcass of a talking plant." He patted Robin's arm. "Never fear to eat a Narnian carrot, lad."

Thus assured, Robin ate.

"The people look a bit different than they did the last time I was here," he remarked.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, there weren't too many human Narnians, since the Witch Queen had driven them back into the south of Archenland. But there's a definite human Narnian look—dark hair, light eyes, fair skin, on the short side, elfish features. I can recognize them, Archenlanders, Calormenes, and Islanders, but where did all these others come from?"

The Rabbit took a bite from the pointy end of his carrot. "Hmm. Well, the big strapping blond humans are either from the Seven Isles, or they're refugees from the Giant Wars in the North.

"The tall ones with dark brown skin and tightly curled hair are the people from Fricia, immeasurably far to our South. The ones who look like Calormenes but have green eyes and red hair are called Midlings, offspring of Calormenes with Archenlanders or Narnians. The Calormenes enslave both peoples—sadly, they'll enslave anyone they can find. But Fricians and Midlings who make it North become free, and we welcome them.

"Finally, the slim tanned ones with the straight black hair are some of the Mrekan, the nomads who live in the vast woods between Telmar and our Western borders.

"And the ones who look like the Islanders but taller and tougher are Telmarines. You won't see many of them here. It is a difficult journey from Telmar, through many mountains, woods, valleys and rivers." He paused. "You seem unhappy, son of Adam. What grieves you?"

Robin shook his head. "In my country, our people are all different colors too. But here everyone rubs elbows like it's nothing. Where I come from, all the colors are kept apart. Whenever they mix too much, someone's bound to get killed. It's a disgrace on my world. For example, my brother is in love with a girl from another color, but they could never be seen in public together, and you can forget about a marriage down the road." He looked sadly at the cobblestones under his bare feet.

"My sympathies, to your brother and his lady, and to your whole world," replied Macurdey. "Things aren't all peace and understanding here, either," he admitted with a sigh. "The Mrekan are flooding our Western borders. It's not that we don't want them, but we're not sure how many more we can support. We'd been fighting off the barbarian Northern Giants for the past five years, and last year we also had to ride to Archenland's defense when the Calormenes invaded. Both wars are over now, but they drained our economy and our natural resources near dry. It will take many years to fully recover."

"Hmm. Where I come from, it was the other way around—first the economy crashed and then there was a war." Robin paused. "Why are the Mrekan emigrating?"

Macurdey lowered his voice. "Telmar is expanding Eastward and driving them off their land, in violation of treaties and sacred oaths. They have nowhere to flee but Narnia and Archenland."

"What falsehood is this, beast?" hissed a voice behind them.

Robin heard the brash, soulless hiss of a sword being unsheathed. He winced at the sound, praying inside that it was the last time he'd ever hear it.

Of course, that was not to be.


	5. IV: Many Princes

_Chapter IV._

MANY PRINCES

Macurdey didn't miss a beat.

"Back, ruffian!" he cried, drawing his own rapier. (The sight of a rabbit using a sword would have made Robin laugh heartily on a different occasion, but right now everything was happening so fast that he didn't even notice how funny Macurdey looked).

The Rabbit and his adversary became a blur, swords blinding in the sunlight. The clang of blade on blade was drowned out by the bustle of the market, but it seemed deathly loud to Robin.

For a moment he considered jumping in. Macurdey's opponent was human-sized (bigger than Robin, in fact) and the boy feared his new friend might lose the fight.

But he realized that ducking between two swords would accomplish nothing but getting killed quickly and easily. Besides, Macurdey seemed to be taking care of things more than adequately himself at the moment. Not sure what to do, Robin stood stupidly a few feet away, gnawing on the tip of his carrot.

He wondered if there were any Narnian police about, and whether they'd come dislodge the combatants. As of now, nobody was even stopping to watch the duel. _How often do things like this happen here? _Robin wondered.

"Hullo!" cried another human voice—a boy, a real Archenlander. "What does this mean?"

The motion ceased. Macurdey stood on the chest of his aggressor—a slender, handsome, brown-haired lad about sixteen—with the tip of his sword pointed at the youth's throat.

Behind them stood a Calormene-looking girl and two husky blond boys who were clearly twins. They were all in their early teens, their tunics and trousers filthy, implying that they'd spent the day in the stables.

"Why this wanton, unprovoked attack, coward?" the Rabbit asked his enemy. "Remember why you came here."

Aravis—that was of course who the girl was—cleared her throat to address the defeated boy. "Your Highness, you came here as an ambassador. Under other circumstances we could ignore your behavior, tracing it to the natural stupidity of teenage boys; but as it is you must work harder to control your temper, or eventually the consequences of your actions will overwhelm you. Good Sir Tallears, please let him stand."

Macurdey obeyed. The twin on Aravis' right bent down to give the foreign prince a hand up, but the prince ignored it and stood up on his own.

"I caught the beast slandering my country," he snarled, "telling that heinous lie that those wretched nomads have been spreading abroad."

"We've had this discussion with you many times," replied the twin. "The Mrekan have nothing to gain from making up stories about Telmarines." He paused. "Hark to these words, Caspian. Either restrain your anger, or—"

"Or I'll box you!" cut in his brother a bit too eagerly.

"Yes. Or Corin will box you."

Caspian rolled his eyes. "Boxed by Corin. What a dreadful fate," he deadpanned. He brushed off his trousers and strode away without a second glance, tossing his head like he owned the place.

"I hate to think what will happen when that boy becomes king of Telmar," the Rabbit muttered.

"That day will probably—hopefully—never come," replied Aravis. "Caspian has an older brother named Miraz. I met him when he paid a diplomatic visit to Tashbaan five years ago. Appearances often deceive, but he seemed honorable."

She turned to Robin.

"Cor, Corin, this is Robin son of Bram, one of your father's subjects. He's visiting Narnia for the summer."

Robin then understood that the brothers must be princes of Archenland.

"My lords," he murmured, and he bowed low as they would expect a loyal subject to do.

…**..**

Luckily for Robin the twin princes didn't try too hard to converse about Archenlandish things with him.

Everyone was concerned that he'd been injured by Caspian and relieved to find out that he wasn't. The honorable Macurdey, however, had gotten a black eye in the scuffle. Despite the Rabbit's protests that he was fine, Aravis and the princes elected to take him back to the palace for medical attention.

Robin couldn't help but wonder if maybe Macurdey wouldn't have been attacked if they'd stayed with Aravis like Aslan had told him earlier, so of course he tagged along.

"I hope His Nastiness the Prince of Telmar didn't frighten you too much," Corin remarked to him. The others were ahead by about ten feet; Robin could hear them talking but could not distinguish their words.

He could tell the two brothers apart now. Cor was soft-spoken, almost imperceptibly shorter and thinner, and his pale eyes were pure blue. Corin had bigger muscles, more freckles, one missing front tooth, his voice was a lot louder, and his eyes were quite green, at least in this light.

The younger boy shrugged. "I've met bullies before, Your Highness. Is he always like that, though? Or does he behave better among his equals?"

"He behaves badly wherever he goes and whoever he's with, as far as I've seen." Corin chewed his lip as though wondering how to convey the next idea. "Let's say you make me angry. I'll knock you down. But I won't hold any grudge against you. Caspian, though…if you anger him once, he will never let you forget it."

"What did he do to you, Your Highness?"

"Well…he arrived three weeks ago with some other Telmarine nobles. They're all stuffy old men with no energy and they probably bore him to tears. One day he wanted to entertain himself, so he challenged me to a fight, since he says he's the best boxer in all Telmar and I'm one of the top-ranking boxers between the Mrekan Territory and the Eastern Sea. So we had a match and I knocked him down. He did not take it like a sportsman. He was furious, but I thought it had blown over until a week ago, when I caught him kissing Tamora Brinn behind the bakery on Alambil Street when he knows I'm madly in love with her. So I knocked him down again, but that made Tamora angry and she knocked me down. So now every time Caspian and I cross paths I know one of us is going to get beat up. Today Macurdey beat me to the punch, in a manner of speaking."

He smiled at Robin suddenly. "You seem like a nice kid. Do you have any sisters around my age?"

"Yes, Your Highness. In fact I have two."

"Are they pretty?"

"One certainly is. The other…" he struggled for words to describe the problem with Kitt's appearance "…would be very pretty, too, if she'd only brush her hair and try to look a little less like a huntsman. If she could grow a beard, she probably would. Why do you ask?"

"The woodsy one sounds interesting. What's her name?"

"Katherine. Everyone calls her Kitt."

"What town do you live in?"

"Uh…Stockwater. It's on the Winding Arrow."

"Does Kitt Katherine have a fellow?"

!

"You mean a…boyfriend?"

"Yes, though 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' are posh Calormene slang terms, and I wouldn't say them too loud unless I wanted to be mistaken for some Tarkheena's wimpy pageboy. But does she?"

"Trust me, Your Highness, she does not." In fact, the very idea of Kitt having a boyfriend made Robin convulse in laughter.

"Good," said the Prince mischievously. "Because I have half a mind to seek out this Katherine of Stockwater. She sounds like exactly my type of girl. Hullo! Here we are back at the palace and just in time for supper!"

Robin's stomach growled. He'd finished his carrot, and the sun was halfway behind the mountains in the distant West.

He hoped that Corin never found out there was no such place as Stockwater, Archenland. He was starting to think that Corin, Cor, Aravis and Macurdey would make great friends, and he was beginning to hate having to lie to them about where he came from.


	6. V: The Ruby in the Dunghill

_Chapter V._

THE RUBY IN THE DUNGHILL

Cair Paravel hosted at least sixty guests for supper on any given evening. Today there were about ninety. To Robin, whose life at home included a steadily decreasing number of people, it seemed like everyone in the Narnian universe had a seat at the long table.

He was sandwiched between Macurdey, whose plate was of course piled high with vegetables, and a rather stout, grey-bearded faun who kept asking people to pass the sardines.

"That fellow on your right…" Macurdey whispered (though no one could have heard him above all the people talking anyway) "…is Tumnus, the oldest friend of our dear Kings and Queens."

The fighting Rabbit now sported a bandage over his black eye, which loaned him a comically rakish appearance.

He continued, "Now that Tumnus is getting up in years he rarely leaves his little cave in Lantern Waste. Whatever brought him out must be pretty important."

"I hope it's a good important," Robin murmured. He remembered from his last visit that Lantern Waste was the Western frontier of Narnia, and that was where all the trouble was coming from…

Despite the overall cheery atmosphere, he could feel tensions of all kinds simmering in the lengthening shadows.

A delegation of Mrekan in tanned leather tunics and denim trousers sat across from the Telmarine diplomats in their heavy armor.

Caspian was surrounded by girls. Corin stared disconsolately at one—a blonde with purple eyes and a sarcastic smile. Robin guessed she was the infamous Tamora Brinn.

Beside Corin sat his brother, deep in conversation with Aravis. They were smiling and laughing, but his serious eyes never left her face.

_Poor Corin,_ Robin thought. _His brother has found a great girl—whether or not they know that yet—and he's jealous._

He knew from having older siblings that the hormones and wild emotions of teenagers caused them no end of pain. He felt deeply sorry for the lovelorn prince.

Then he pictured Corin attempting to woo Kitt, and the spiced wine he'd been drinking shot out his nose.

"What's so funny, lad?" Macurdey inquired.

The boy shook his head. "Ah, nothing…"

"Well, kindly watch where you spray next time. I don't particularly like my cabbage sautéed in snotty wine."

"Sorry." Robin tried to choke down his guffaws.

Tumnus rose from his seat. The shadows and torchlight made his silhouette look rather devilish, but he had a very kind face.

The faun clip-clopped to the other end of the hall. Robin saw him bend and whisper in the ear of a handsome young man whose golden hair gleamed as bright as the likewise golden circlet on his head.

_Is that Peter?_ Robin thought. _I hope I look that good when I'm twenty-nine._

Tumnus walked back to his seat. The High King turned and spoke low to the people sitting with him on the dais.

Robin studied them, testing his memory.

_The gorgeous lady with the black hair is Susan, I suppose. The younger girl, the blonde one, must be Lucy. _This disconcerted Robin; last time he'd seen Lucy, she'd been younger than him. _The pale, somber-looking guy is Edmund, and—wait! Who's the other woman?_

The lady in question sat at Peter's right hand. She wore a yellow dress, and there were oak leaves twined in her long dark hair. Her face was beautiful, though its features were stern. She would be remarkably tall if she stood up.

Macurdey followed Robin's eyes. "That's Lavinia Etano. She's our Secretary of Agriculture."

"She must be a pretty special Secretary of Agriculture if she gets to sit with the royal family."

"Oh, she is. She's also betrothed to the High King. Unfortunately, many oppose the match. Lavinia's father is Mrekani. Many fear the union of a Narnian King with a Mrekani half-blood would lead to war with Telmar."

"Silence!" cried a page suddenly from near the dais. "The High King wishes to make an announcement!"

All at once the boisterous dining hall fell silent.

King Peter stood. "Hail Narnians, friends and allies."

"Hail Peter the Magnificent!" many in the crowd replied. Others clapped and cheered.

"Thank you for your praise." He paused. "Our friend Tumnus has brought us tidings from the Western March."

Nervous glances skittered around the room. The Mrekani delegation moved closer together. Prince Caspian put his hand on his dagger-hilt. Lavinia Etano's dark eyes scouted out the exits.

"At peace, everyone," continued Peter, well aware of the rising tension. "There will be no need to draw weapons, or to flee the premises. Our tidings are good news for everyone." He smiled. "The White Stag has returned to Narnia."

A huge cheer went up from most of the Narnians and Archenlanders. The Telmarines looked insulted, the Calormene ambassador looked bored, and the few in between (namely our young American friend) had no clue what the High King was talking about.

Macurdey explained before Robin could ask. "The White Stag grants your wishes if you can catch him," he whispered. "The last time he was sighted in Narnia, so they say, was three-hundred-fifty years ago—even before the Reign of Ice."

The High King resumed. "Tomorrow morning we, with our royal sisters and brother and noble friends, will ride to Lantern Waste on the trail of the Stag. Any who wish to join our party are welcome. We shall leave here on horseback at nine o'clock. At noon we will adjourn for a picnic lunch. If we fail to catch the Stag by four o'clock we'll lodge in the wood tomorrow night and resume the chase the next morning. Pack your own bedding, water, and extra food. Bring your hunting horns, but there will be no need of hounds, traps, arrows, spears, or any other weapon. The Stag must be caught, but Aslan's curse on anyone who would harm a hair of his flank."

One of the Telmarines stood. "We have travelled far and toiled greatly to reach this place, seeking your help to vanquish those savage enemies who dwell in the wild between us. Yet Your Majesty continues to delay council with ridiculous devices. Now you put it off to hunt a bewitched beast!"

"Peace, Lord Sobian," returned King Edmund from where he sat in the shadows. "Rest assured: the time for discussion will come. But this is an exceptional case. The White Stag has not been seen in these parts for centuries, and likely no one present will be alive to see him return. We must seize the opportunity granted by Aslan."

"Good people, if I may speak?" asked a Mrekani woman.

"We are all listening, Pelli," answered Queen Lucy.

Pelli's voice was deeper than that of most women. "It has for many centuries been understood among the People of the Forest that the White Stag must not be hunted. Pursuing him always brings disaster. If you want the Stag's blessings, you must wait. You must not go after him. You must let him come to you."

"What sort of disaster awaits those who give chase to the Stag?" asked King Edmund thoughtfully.

"This is the tale as we tell it in the Mountainous Forest. The last time the Stag was seen in this part of the world, all the nobles of the Forest People and the People Near the Forest sought him with the crying of hounds and horns. Among them were Toncrano, our greatest President; King Tarvin of Archenland; Crown Prince Aben of Narnia; and Queen Tirelia and King Marassian of Telmar. Of those who rode out only one returned. Queen Tirelia dragged herself bloody and wounded from the forest three days later, without her horse or any attendants. She never told what happened in that place—the bodies of her fellow hunters were never found—but it was understood by all the Peoples that if they had not chased the Stag, the evil would not have befallen them. We Forest People hold by that to this day. Apparently the tale did not survive the Narnian Winter."

"But Jadis was alive then, and we know she had a stronghold in the mountains," Queen Susan interjected. "Whatever befell Tirelia's party was probably her doing. I doubt we now have anything to fear."

"'Don't be too hasty with that judgment, O Queen," croaked a Raven. "It's been only fifteen years since the Witch was vanquished—fifteen years of good to undo at least a century of evil, and probably many more centuries of hidden harm. There are still dark rumors in that part of the country. Some say Jadis had at least two children…"

"But you said it yourself, Sallowpad—they're just rumors," admonished Queen Lucy gently. "I think the hunt is a splendid idea, Peter."

"Telmar suffers while you amuse yourselves with these trifles!" cried Sobian in visible frustration.

"Your Majesties, I beg you!" said Pelli. "Consider my words."

"I would agree with the Forest-Daughter," said the Calormene ambassador, a rotund fellow in an orange robe. "This Stag may well be a conjuring of some evil, secret consciousness. We should let it come to us, not go pursuing it. For has not one of the poets said, better to wait for a stone to fall than jump to catch it? And another has said, wisdom from the mouths of barbarians is as rare and precious as a ruby in a dunghill."

Pelli gritted her teeth at the insult. "I am immensely glad that you poets approve of my 'barbarian wisdom', Sidrash," she deadpanned. "My life has meaning once again."

Corin started clapping until Aravis shot him a warning look.

Sidrash Tarkhaan didn't seem to care one way or another. He just yawned and stuffed another honey cake in his mouth.

"Well, I'm always game for a hunt," Caspian drawled. His girlfriends laughed at his bad pun.

"My Lord, perhaps we should reconsider—" said Lavinia, tapping the High King's shoulder.

"What do you think, Edmund?" asked Queen Susan. "You're the best judge here."

King Edmund sat awhile silent, staring between the pillars of the hall at the Sea, which was silky purple in the twilight.

"I will consider," he said at last. "I will think about it deeply."


	7. VI: Tally Ho

_Chapter VI._

TALLY HO

Robin woke very early the next morning. He crept through the corridors and down the many staircases of the palace, till he reached the balcony of the great dining hall that overlooked the Sea.

There he stayed to watch the Sun slowly peel himself out of the ocean. Yesterday's sunset had been marvelously colorful thanks to the clear sky, but there were many clouds in the firmament this morning, so the Sun looked pale peach and the pink-and-purple cloudbanks were muted.

No one else was awake. Robin hadn't even heard a rooster crow.

He sat there in the silence, gazing Eastward, and remembered his nightmare.

…

It had started out like one of those Western films they'd show at the movie theater in Robin's hometown. In the dream he'd stood on a high green hill, watching the cowboys charge up, spurring their sweating horses.

Robin was one of the "Indians" in this sequence—somewhat. His coloring hadn't changed, but he wore no shirt and buckskin trousers and a quiver full of arrows on his back. Many others stood with him on the hill, but for now he didn't recognize any of them. The cowboys shot everything in their path.

Robin felt his chest shatter as a bullet went through.

As he sank under his own dying weight, he looked into the face of his killer, whom he recognized even in the garb of a cowboy: Prince Caspian of Telmar.

"Why did you do this?" Robin asked, his voice shrinking as the life left it.

Caspian smiled down at him and said with a perfect country-western drawl, "Manifest Destiny."

You can imagine how frightened Robin was when he woke up.

…

"An excellent spot to meditate, is this not?" asked someone behind him, startling him back to the present.

Robin whirled around. "G-g-good m-morning, Your Majesty," he stammered. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No, lad, you can stay," replied King Edmund. "This balcony is more than big enough for the two of us and our thoughts."

He sat on the edge of the balcony, long legs dangling over the side, and studied Robin with his famously piercing dark eyes.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Robin…son of…Bram, Your Majesty. I'm up from Archenland visiting family."

"You don't have to lie to me, Robin. I know just from hearing how you speak that you are not an Archenlander, or a Narnian, or a Telmarine…where did you come from?"

Robin scrambled to his feet and started to run away, but the King grabbed his arm.

"Please don't hurt me, Your Majesty."

"I doubt I'll have to."

The boy looked at the marble floor. "I'm from another world, sire. I popped up here through a magic door."

Edmund raised his head, suddenly alert.

"What sort of 'other world'? Describe it."

"Hmm…it's a sad one, Your Majesty. There's no magic—even the colors there are duller than they are here. The people of my world have nearly wiped themselves out with their monstrous war-machines twice in the past thirty years."

"Thank you, lad." Edmund stared at the pale red sunlight sliding over the waters. "A world without magic," he mused. "A world without color. A world at war. Was this where we came from, Aslan? And if so, what does the coming of this boy mean?"

A tall, regal figure in a brown cloak came toward them. Robin saw the woman's black hair and assumed she was Queen Susan. But as she came closer he saw that she was tanned, while Susan was very fair, and her eyes were black while Susan's were blue. This woman's features were sterner, and she had wiry muscles in her thin arms.

King Edmund bowed to her. "My Lady Lavinia. Why do you stir so early?"

Lavinia looked with curiosity at Robin. "Who is Your Majesty's young friend?"

"My name's Robin, milady." Accompanied by a clumsy bow.

"A sweet name," she responded, before turning back to Edmund. "My Lord, have you reached a conclusion about the White Stag?"

He bit his lip pensively. "Aslan came to me while I slept saying we should go."

Lavinia sighed. "I would never interfere with the will of the Lion. But since Pelli spoke last night, my mind has known no peace."

"I understand. Pelli speaks from her soul, and she's never yet made a wrong prediction." The King cleared his throat. "But for diplomacy, we need something that will distract the Telmarine ambassadors until they go home, without making or breaking any promises. This is the best ploy yet. And besides—" he managed a grin "—I don't know about you, but there are some wishes I'd like granted."

The Secretary of Agriculture was not amused. "At what price, O King?"

They conversed for a while longer, but Robin heard none of it.

Aslan's words from yesterday echoed through his mind:

_While I am gone, darkness may fall on Narnia._

…

Later in the morning Robin met up with Macurdey, who found him a small loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a skin of water for the road.

"What do you think about the whole hunting thing today?" the boy asked.

The Rabbit shook his head gruffly. "Pelli is an honest woman, but I agree with Queen Susan. Whatever got the last people who hunted the Stag was probably the doing of the Witch. Since she and her compatriots are long-dead, I don't think we need fear the hunt itself. However, part of me does fear that young Prince Caspian might cause some mischief, out in the wilderness and far from law enforcement."

Robin lowered his voice. "Are you worried he'll try to assassinate someone?"

To which Macurdey replied in an even lower whisper, "There is no crime the Telmarines won't stoop to if they can frame the Mrekan for it. That's all I can tell you. We must keep close watch on Lavinia today."

…

By eight-thirty everyone was ready for the day's chase.

A party of about twenty-five stood waiting for the barge that would take them up the Great River to Lantern Waste.

Robin was small enough to share a horse with Prince Cor, while Macurdey was given the honor of riding with his friend Queen Lucy.

Robin didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help overhear a nearby conversation; a conversation that seemed inconsequential at present but became fraught with meaning in retrospect.

"Sister, you should have brought a different horn," King Peter was saying. "An ordinary horn. People will get nervous if they see the one you have."

Queen Susan shivered a little, despite the rising heat. "Pelli's story has been growing in the back of my mind. I would have left my Christmas gift at home, but the possibility remains that we may have need of it before nightfall."

The High King sighed and climbed into his saddle. "I wanted this to be a pleasant excursion, not an errand of fear."

Old Sidrash Tarkhaan sat in a chaise lounge at the water's edge watching the ducks drift by.

"Hello there, Sid!" Corin exclaimed.

Cor smote himself on the forehead.

"As you can see," he whispered to Robin through clenched teeth, "my brother can be a remarkably audacious idiot."

"The Tarkhaan doesn't like being called 'Sid'?"

"I have no idea, but Corin should have more respect for foreigners and adults."

"Hello, little barbarian princeling," the ambassador replied sleepily to Corin.

"Are you coming on the hunt today?"

"No. Even if I did not fear the witchcraft of the beast you so recklessly chase, I agree with the poet who said, 'the barbarian shrinks his intellect to expand his muscles, but the civilized and enlightened one sacrifices superficial fitness and beauty to improve his already outstanding sapience."

"Sid, I have a question. If you Calormenes think your poets are so great, how come you never mention any by name? You always say 'a poet' or 'one of the poets'. Is all poetry anonymous in Calormen? Or do you make up the sayings on the spot and—"

Sidrash interrupted, "The poets also say, 'do not unduly distress yourself by attempting to reason with or enlighten barbarians, for they lack the capacity to understand the simplest logic." Once he'd finished the sentence he promptly began to snore.

Now the fateful barge arrived to take the hunters away.

Some would never return.

…

When Robin was quite young (before his mother died, in fact), his family would leave their bland suburban surroundings every summer to camp in some ancient, magnificent forest. Although he himself could remember precious little about these excursions, his siblings remembered a great deal, and Anna especially told wonderful family vacation stories.

One memory Robin retained on his own: miles and miles of green leaves high above with the sun pouring through them.

But never in his own world had he seen such a summer's day as this, such incredibly green leaves, such a vast bright blue sky (it'd cleared up considerably since they'd set out). The sunlight of Narnia even had more bands of purple and turquoise mixed in with the golden.

"Your Highness?" Robin asked Prince Cor, by way of small talk. "Can the horse we're riding speak?"

Cor shook his head. "No. A Talking Horse is only ridden in desperate times, battles or journeys of great import, where no other horse can be found. If we can possibly avoid it, we won't insult them by making them carry our weight."

"Have you ever needed to ride a Talking Horse?"

The Prince threw back his head and laughed. "Did I ever!" And he told Robin a heavily-abridged version of his escape from slavery in Calormen with Aravis, and Hwin and Bree the Talking Horses (Robin very much hoped he'd meet them sometime).

By the time the story was finished, the hunting party had reached a large clearing in the trees, where they dismounted to eat a picnic lunch and let their horses graze.

Robin and Cor sat on a blanket with Aravis and Corin. Eventually Macurdey and Queen Lucy came to join them.

"Your Majesty!" cried Robin, standing up and bowing. "What an unexpected pleasure!"

"You are quite the gentleman, young neighbor," replied she with a smile and a little curtsey. "What might your name be?"

For what seemed like the thousandth time in the past two days he donned his false identity: Robin son of Bram, visiting family in Narnia for the summer holidays.

King Edmund sat off by himself on a boulder in the forest, munching bread and cheese. His gaze flickered suspiciously at Robin, as if to say "I know you're lying to my sister", before panning away to the shadows deeper in the wood.

"I'm so glad the weather cleared up," Lucy remarked. "I feel like we're all on the beginning of a lovely new adventure."

Her big pretty blue eyes were all sincerity, but Robin could tell even she was a bit anxious about today's excursion. She had heeded Pelli's words last evening.

Across the clearing Lavinia sat alone, gazing pensively all around and not touching her food. When the High King came by he put his arm around her and whispered reassurances, but nothing he did could make her smile.

When lunch was over everyone climbed back on their refreshed steeds and the chase resumed.

Perhaps fortunately for Robin, when the horses sped up, he lost his grip, slipped off from behind Cor, and struck his head against a hard root, knocking himself unconscious before he could even cry out in shock.

…

When he came to, dusk was draping slowly over the land. Sunset looked pale between the black tree-trunks.

Robin felt something wet under the spot where he'd hit his head. Easing his fingers cautiously behind his scalp, he identified the stuff by touch: moss.

He lay propped up against a hollow log. Near him a small campfire burned.

He was not alone.

One companion was Aravis. She sat on the other side of the fire, Indian-style, with a Calormene scimitar bared upon her knees.

The other person gave him quite a start at first. She looked like a teenage girl, but her porcelain skin had a greenish cast, and her long wild auburn hair had a great many pointy objects protruding from it (they were only twigs and leaves, but in that light one could be forgiven for thinking they were horns). She was awfully thin— "willowy" to be precise—and her fingers seemed unusually long.

Aravis' eyes flickered in Robin's direction. "You're awake," she whispered. "How do you feel?"

"My head's a little sore, but other than that I'm fine. Thank you. What's going on? Where is everybody?"

"Speak softer, Son of Adam," said the strange girl in a voice like a soft spring forest breeze. "We do not know who else might hear us." She shivered.

"Ok then," he whispered. "What happened?"

The Calormene stared into the lengthening dark. "You fell off Cor's horse. Someone needed to stay behind and tend you. I volunteered. The rest went on ahead. That was over three hours ago. None of them have returned."

"Should we go look for them?"

She shook her head. "No. Night is almost upon us. If tomorrow the sun rises and still no one comes back this way, then we will search, and call out everyone who can help."

"A wise plan," concurred the girl with the greenish skin. "What is your name, Son of Adam?"

_Not again._ Once more he used his alias.

"Pleased to meet you, Robin. My name is Phyllis, and these woods are my home."

He guessed then that she was a Dryad, which explained her somewhat eerie looks.

They supped on the bread, cheese and picnic leftovers Aravis and Robin had in their packs.

Shortly thereafter Robin fell asleep with his sore head on his pillow of moss. Phyllis curled up inside the hollow log (which she said used to be her grandmother's tree of residence).

Aravis, rigorously self-trained as she was, sat guard all night, her scimitar edged with red from the campfire's embers.

Whatever dawn brought, it would have to get past her first.


	8. VII: A Change of Air

_Chapter VII._

A CHANGE OF AIR

Sidrash Tarkhaan was in the exact same spot where the hunting party had left him the previous morning, napping in the chaise on the riverbank.

Corin wove between the other distraught hunters coming off the barge. Upon reaching the Tarkhaan he shook his arm frantically until the old man opened his eyes.

"Sid! Sid! Wake up, Sid!"

"Why do you pester me, little barbarian princeling?"

"It's the end of the world, Sid! The Kings and Queens have vanished, just like Pelli said happened to Queen Bacteria's friends all those centuries ago! The Stag must be evil!"

Sidrash yawned, letting his eyes re-close. "As one of the poets has said, 'I told you so.'" With that he went back to sleep.

Slowly the hunters climbed off the barge as if in a daze. Frightened courtiers of every species huddled together whispering. Lavinia Etano led the crowd on foot, leading the four royal horses by their bridles in addition to her own black mare. The Secretary of Agriculture seemed to see everything and nothing, her eyes huge with horror and disbelief.

"What happened?" Robin asked Macurdey. "Is it too painful to talk about?"

"No, lad," the Rabbit sighed. "I have a feeling you'll need to know before the end."

He paused and looked over his shoulder to the Northwest. His ears and even his whiskers drooped forlornly.

"Truth be told, Robin, I don't _know_ exactly what happened. No one does, because no one saw, except presumably the Kings' and Queens' horses, which doesn't do us any good because they can't talk.

"Here's the little I _do _know: I took your place behind Prince Cor after you fell off. A while later the horse began to tire, so we stopped and dismounted to water him. Soon everyone except our dear monarchs was too exhausted to go any further. The four of them thought they saw the Stag, and they kept galloping on.

"About ten minutes later we realized we couldn't hear them anymore.

"We searched under every leaf and twig in that wood. Lavinia found their horses wandering. Peridan found the High King's cloak draped over a bar on the Lamppost. But that was the only trace."

"Were they abducted, do you think?"

Macurdey bit his lip. "There was no blood, nothing stolen from the saddle-bags, nothing broken, no signs of a struggle at all. I think they were indeed abducted—with magic."

"Do you think Pelli was right, then? Some evil follows this White Stag?"

The Rabbit shuddered. "I wish I could tell you, Robin. I just don't know."

In his head, Robin heard the Lion roar.

…**..**

_You must go back now! _Aslan shouted. _Soon this world will no longer be safe for you._

_ But sir, what about the task you sent me here to complete?_

_ Fear not. I will bring you back when the time is right, and when that happens you will not be alone. Now, fly!_

…**.**

Terror seized Robin. The fear that had lingered nebulous inside him for days now screeched to the front of his mind. The colors of Narnia were dulled and darkened in his eyes.

He brought his horse to stable and took off running.

He didn't dare say goodbye to any of his new friends. Aslan had made it clear there was no time.

Robin skidded down the staircase hewn from the living cliff. He sped across the beach, only stopping to tear off his Narnian shoes.

_There's the cave mouth!_

He splashed into the grotto, feeling the air change from the freshness of the Eastern Ocean to the stuffy wardrobe interior in Michigan. He slowed down just in time not to crash on his way out. His old wet clothes were back on, but he scarcely noticed them cold and heavy on his skin.

He stood there for a moment, panting. He was sure now: it was no dream, and he was not mad.

"Ben, have you seen Robin anywhere?" came Anna's voice from downstairs.

Robin looked over his shoulder at the wardrobe.

_I'll be back, _he thought. _And next time, I won't be alone._

He ran down the outside stairs and into the kitchen through the back door.

…**.**

A knock came at the front door. Anna answered.

On the front step stood a lovely girl slightly younger than herself, who had smooth deep brown skin and eyes the color of amber. Her umbrella had a large hole on one side, which was not adequately protecting her from the downpour.

"Um, hello, Delia," Anna stammered.

"Anna! May I come in?"

Anna stood stupidly for a second, deliberating.

Kitt was just coming out of the bathroom at this moment and saw her friend on the doorstep in the rain. She ran over and pushed Anna out of the way. "Delia! Come inside!"

She took Delia's wet coat and hung it haphazardly on the staircase's baluster since there was nowhere else to hang it.

"Nice of you to come," Anna squeaked, forcing a smile. Kitt shot her a killing look.

"I'm going to miss you all something terrible," said Delia warmly.

"We'll miss you too, friend," Kitt returned, with a sincerity in her voice that Anna rarely heard these days.

Robin came running in through the kitchen. On a normal day Delia and both his sisters would have noticed he was oddly flushed, and panting too hard to have run down merely a small flight of steps, but today they all had more than enough distraction.

"Delia!" he cried, running to her and throwing his skinny arms around her. "You came!"

"Did you really think I'd leave without seeing you off?" She straightened to her full height and held him at arm's length. "I expect all of you to write to me frequently."

"We will," he promised, and began sniffling.

"You'll write back, won't you?" Kitt asked, just to make sure.

Delia rolled her eyes. "Of course I will, Kitt. What a silly question. Though I can't imagine my letters being very interesting."

"What makes you think ours will be?" asked a male voice, and Ben climbed up the basement stairs and into the grey light. "What will we have to tell you, other than how stuffy our teachers are and how we hate having to wear our school uniforms?"

Delia chuckled. "I see nothing can make you lose your sense of humor, Benjamin Seamus Kilburn." Then, as if losing confidence, she lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry the guys couldn't make it," she added as Ben drew closer, still not meeting his gaze. "They're going to miss you too, and they all wrote you a letter." She reached into her sweater, pulled out a fat envelope, and handed it to him.

(Before this story began, Ben had been in a jazz band comprised of local teens. Delia sang and Ben played trumpet. I'm afraid I can't tell you their name because it changed about once a week).

Ben stuffed the envelope into his own sweater pocket. "I'll read it on the train." He locked eyes with Delia suddenly. "I'm gonna write to you first thing I do when I get there."

She smiled. "I would like that."

Then he threw awkwardness to the wind and hugged her.

"Ben," she whispered, "if you found someone else there, I wouldn't be angry with you."

"You know I'd never ditch you," he returned in a low mumble that he hoped his siblings couldn't hear. Quickly, before anyone could figure out what a brave thing he had done, he kissed her forehead lightly. Pulling away, he smiled at her and realized her big amber eyes glistened with tears.

That look was enough.

"Ahem," said Kitt, a bit too loud. She produced something from behind her back. "I made this for you, Delia. So you'll remember all of us, not just Ben."

Drawing was Kitt's only known talent, aside from getting into trouble. What she handed Delia now was a watercolor of the band playing—Toby on drums, Carey on piano, Mike on bass, Delia up front wielding her voice from God like the sword of an archangel, Bud the sax man on one side, Ben with his trumpet on the other. They had all been rendered in shades of blue.

"This is beautiful, Kitt!" Delia exclaimed, and pulled the younger girl into a hug. Kitt would have resisted being hugged by most people, but she liked Delia well enough to actually hug her back. "I will always treasure it."

…**.**

Twenty minutes later the Kilburns stood holding their suitcases on a bare-bones train platform, the rain weeping harder than they were.

Anna was already fretting about the future: _What if we get to New York and our ship has sailed? What if Mrs. Craven doesn't come to get us at the harbor? What if no one likes us at our new schools?_ There were darker things lurking in the corners of her mind, but she refused to think about them.

Robin's thoughts were on Narnia. _Where did the Kings and Queens go? When will I come back? Who'll come with me?_

Kitt's frame of mind was always more violent than the others. _If Anna dares say anything about Ben and Delia, I will punch her. I don't care that Robin is here. I don't care that we're in mourning. If I could, I would go back in time to save her from becoming a cheerleader. She was completely colorblind before she made friends with all those awful girls. I'm glad I punched Cyndi von Pelt. She deserved it._

Ben was surprisingly happy: _Whew! I kissed Delia! I think she likes me! She likes me! I think she likes me! First thing I do when we settle down I'll write her a good long letter._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>For those of you who have read _Bud, Not Buddy,_ yes, the sax man in Ben's band is that Bud. He belongs to Christopher Paul Curtis, not me.

At this time in history, many black jazz bands would include one white member, like Ben, who could scout out gigs from people who might have refused to hire a black band.

Between racism, the Depression, and WWII, it was a dark time in American history, but I'd be ashamed to write a story set in the 1940s that didn't mention any of this.

And Anna will see the light. Aslan's not going to let her think that way for long. ~GwF


	9. VII: Corin's Type

Chapter VII: _Corin's Type._

Luckily for Robin the twin princes didn't try too hard to converse about Archenlandish things with him.

Everyone was a bit concerned that he'd been injured by Caspian and relieved to find out that he wasn't. The honorable Macurdey, however, had gotten a black eye in the scuffle. Despite the Rabbit's protests that he was fine, Aravis and the princes elected to take him back to the palace for medical attention.

Robin couldn't help but wonder if maybe Macurdey wouldn't have been attacked if they'd stayed with Aravis like Aslan had told him earlier, so of course he tagged along.

"I hope His Nastiness the Prince of Telmar didn't frighten you too much," Corin remarked to him. The others were ahead by about ten feet; Robin could hear them talking but could not distinguish their words.

He could tell the two brothers apart now. Cor was soft-spoken, almost imperceptibly shorter and thinner, and his pale eyes were pure blue. Corin had bigger muscles, more freckles, one missing front tooth, his voice was a lot louder, and his eyes were quite green, at least in this light.

The younger boy shrugged. "I've met bullies before, Your Highness. Is he always like that, though? Or does he behave better among his equals?"

"He behaves badly wherever he goes and whoever he's with, as far as I've seen." Corin chewed his lip as though wondering how to convey the next idea. "Let's say you make me angry. I'll knock you down. But I won't hold any grudge against you. Caspian, though…if you anger him once, he will never let you forget it. Trust me on that."

"Why, Your Highness? What did he do to you?"

"Well…he arrived three weeks ago with some other Telmarine nobles. They're all stuffy old men with no energy and they probably bore him to tears. One day he wanted to entertain himself, so he challenged me to a fight, since he says he's the best boxer in all Telmar and I'm one of the top-ranking boxers between the Mrekan Territory and the Eastern Sea. So we had a match and I knocked him down. He did not take it like a sportsman. He was furious, but I thought it had blown over until a week ago, when I caught him kissing Tamora Brinn behind the bakery on Alambil Street when he knows _I'm_ madly in love with her. So I knocked him down again, but that made Tamora angry and she knocked _me_ down. So now every time Caspian and I cross paths I know one of us is going to get beat up. Today Macurdey beat me to the punch, in a manner of speaking."

He smiled at Robin suddenly. "You seem like a nice kid. Do you have any sisters around my age?"

"Yes, Your Highness. In fact I have two."

"Are they pretty?"

"One certainly is. The other…" he struggled for words to describe the problem with Kitt's appearance "…would be very pretty, too, if she'd only brush her hair and try to look a little less like a huntsman. If she could grow a beard, she probably would. Why do you ask?"

"The woodsy one sounds interesting. What's her name?"

"Katherine. Everyone calls her Kitt."

"What town do you live in?"

"Uh…Stockwater. It's on the Winding Arrow."

"Does Kitt Katherine have a fellow?"

!

"You mean a…boyfriend?"

"Yes, though 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' are posh Calormene slang terms, and I wouldn't say them too loud unless I wanted to be mistaken for some Tarkheena's wimpy pageboy. But does she?"

"Trust me, Your Highness, _she does not_." In fact, the very idea of Kitt having a boyfriend made Robin convulse in laughter.

"Good," said the Prince mischievously. "Because I have half a mind to seek out this Katherine of Stockwater. She sounds like exactly my type of girl. Hullo! Here we are back at the palace and just in time for supper!"

Robin's stomach growled. (He'd finished his carrot, and the sun was halfway behind the mountains in the distant West).

He hoped that Corin never found out there was no such place as Stockwater, Archenland. He was starting to think that Corin, Cor, Aravis and Macurdey would make great friends, and he was beginning to hate having to lie to them about where he came from.


	10. VIII: The Secretary of Agriculture

Chapter VIII: _The Secretary of Agriculture._

Cair Paravel hosted at least sixty guests for supper on any given evening. Today there were about ninety. To Robin, whose life at home included a steadily decreasing number of people, it seemed like everyone in the Narnian universe had a seat at the long table.

He was sandwiched between Macurdey, whose plate was of course piled high with vegetables, and a rather stout, grey-bearded faun who kept asking people to pass the sardines.

"That fellow on your right…" Macurdey whispered (though no one could have heard him above all the people talking anyway) "…is Tumnus, the oldest friend of our dear Kings and Queens."

The fighting Rabbit now sported a bandage over his black eye, which loaned him a comically rakish appearance.

He continued, "Now that Tumnus is getting up in years he rarely leaves his little cave in Lantern Waste. Whatever brought him out must be pretty important."

"I hope it's a good important," Robin murmured. He remembered from his last visit that Lantern Waste was the Western frontier of Narnia, and that was where all the trouble was coming from…

Despite the overall cheery atmosphere, he could feel tensions of all kinds simmering in the lengthening shadows. A delegation of Mrekan in tanned leather tunics and denim trousers sat across from the Telmarine diplomats in their heavy armor.

Caspian was surrounded by girls. Corin stared disconsolately at one—a blonde with purple eyes and a sarcastic smile. Robin guessed she was the infamous Tamora Brinn.

Beside Corin sat his brother, deep in conversation with Aravis. They were smiling and laughing, but his serious eyes never left her face.

_Poor Corin, _Robin thought. _His brother has found a great girl—whether or not they know that yet—and he's jealous._

He knew from having older siblings that the hormones and emotions of teenagers caused them no end of pain. He felt deeply sorry for the lovelorn prince.

Then he pictured Corin attempting to woo Kitt, and the spiced wine he'd been drinking shot out his nose.

"What's so funny, lad?" Macurdey inquired.

The boy shook his head. "Ah, nothing…"

"Well, kindly watch where you spray next time. I don't particularly like my cabbage sautéed in snotty wine."

"Sorry." Robin tried to choke down his guffaws.

Tumnus rose from his seat. The shadows and torchlight made his silhouette look rather devilish, but he had a very kind face.

The faun clip-clopped to the other end of the hall. Robin saw him bend and whisper in the ear of a handsome young man whose golden hair gleamed as bright as the likewise golden circlet he wore on his head.

_Is that Peter? _Robin thought. _I hope I look that good when I'm twenty-nine._

Tumnus walked back to his seat. The High King turned and spoke low to the people sitting with him on the dais.

Robin studied them, testing his memory.

_The gorgeous lady with the black hair is Susan, I suppose. The younger girl, the blonde one, must be Lucy. _This disconcerted Robin; last time he'd seen Lucy, she'd been younger than him. _The pale, somber-looking guy is Edmund, and—wait! Who's the other woman?_

The lady in question sat at Peter's right hand. She wore a yellow dress, and there were oak leaves twined in her long dark hair. Her face was beautiful, though its features were stern. Although she was seated, she seemed very tall to Robin.

Macurdey followed Robin's eyes. "That's Lavinia Etano. She's our Secretary of Agriculture."

"She must be a pretty special Secretary of Agriculture if she gets to sit with the royal family."

"Oh, she is. She's also betrothed to the High King. Unfortunately, many oppose the match. Lavinia's father is Mrekani. Many fear the union of a Narnian King with a Mrekani half-blood would lead to war with Telmar."

"Silence!" cried a page suddenly from near the dais. "The High King wishes to make an announcement!"


	11. IX: The Ruby in the Dunghill

Chapter IX. _The Ruby in the Dunghill. _

All at once the boisterous dining hall fell silent.

King Peter stood. "Hail Narnians, friends and allies."

"Hail Peter the Magnificent!" many in the crowd replied. Others clapped and cheered.

"Thank you for your praise." He paused. "Our friend Tumnus has brought us tidings from the Western March."

Nervous glances skittered around the room. The Mrekani delegation moved closer together. Prince Caspian put his hand on his dagger-hilt. Lavinia Etano's dark eyes scouted out the exits.

"At peace, everyone," continued Peter, well aware of the rising tension. "There will be no need to draw weapons, or to flee the premises. Our tidings are good news for everyone." He smiled. "The White Stag has returned to Narnia."

A huge cheer went up from most of the Narnians and Archenlanders. The Telmarines looked insulted, the Calormene ambassador looked bored, and the few in between (namely our young American friend) had no clue what the High King was talking about.

Macurdey explained before Robin could ask. "The White Stag grants your wishes if you can catch him," he whispered. "The last time he was sighted in Narnia, so they say, was three-hundred-fifty years ago—even before the Reign of Ice."

The High King resumed. "Tomorrow morning we, with our royal sisters and brother and noble friends, will ride to Lantern Waste on the trail of the Stag. Any who wish to join our party are welcome. We shall leave here on horseback at nine o'clock. At noon we will adjourn for a picnic lunch. If we fail to catch the Stag by four o'clock we'll lodge in the wood tomorrow night and resume the chase the next morning. Pack your own bedding, water, and extra food. Bring your hunting horns, but there will be no need of hounds, traps, arrows, spears, or any other weapon. The Stag must be caught, but Aslan's curse on anyone who would harm a hair of his flank."

One of the Telmarines stood. "We have travelled far and toiled greatly to reach this place, seeking your help to vanquish those savage enemies who dwell in the wild between us. Yet Your Majesty continues to delay council with ridiculous devices. Now you put it off to hunt a bewitched beast!"

"Peace, Lord Sobian," returned King Edmund from where he sat in the shadows. "Rest assured: the time for discussion will come. But this is an exceptional case. The White Stag has not been seen in these parts for centuries, and likely no one present will be alive to see him return. We must seize the opportunity granted by Aslan."

"Good people, if I may speak?" asked a Mrekani woman.

"We are all listening, Pelli," answered Queen Lucy.

Pelli's voice was deeper than that of most women. "It has for many centuries been understood among the People of the Forest that the White Stag must not be hunted. Pursuing him always brings disaster. If you want the Stag's blessings, you must wait. You must not go after him. You must let _him_ come to _you_."

"What sort of disaster awaits those who give chase to the Stag?" asked King Edmund thoughtfully.

"This is the tale as we tell it in the Mountainous Forest. The last time the Stag was seen in this part of the world, all the nobles of the Forest People and the People Near the Forest sought him with the crying of hounds and horns. Among them were Toncrano, our greatest President; King Tarvin of Archenland; Crown Prince Aben of Narnia; and Queen Tirelia and King Marassian of Telmar. Of those who rode out only one returned. Queen Tirelia dragged herself bloody and wounded from the forest three days later, without her horse or any attendants. She never told what happened in that place—the bodies of her fellow hunters were never found—but it was understood by all the Peoples that if they had not chased the Stag, the evil would not have befallen them. We Forest People hold by that to this day. Apparently the tale did not survive the Narnian Winter."

"But Jadis was alive then, and we know she had a stronghold in the mountains," Queen Susan interjected. "Whatever befell Tirelia's party was probably _her_ doing. I doubt we now have anything to fear."

'Don't be too hasty with that judgment, O Queen," croaked a Raven. "It's been only fifteen years since the Witch was vanquished—fifteen years of good to undo at least a century of evil, and probably many more centuries of hidden harm. There are still dark rumors in that part of the country. Some say Jadis had at least two children…"

"But you said it yourself, Sallowpad—they're just rumors," admonished Queen Lucy gently. "I think the hunt is a splendid idea, Peter."

"Telmar suffers while you amuse yourselves with these trifles!" cried Sobian in visible frustration.

"Your Majesties, I beg you!" said Pelli. "Consider my words."

"I would agree with the Forest-Daughter," said the Calormene ambassador, a rotund fellow in an orange robe. "This Stag may well be a conjuring of some evil, secret consciousness. We should let it come to us, not go pursuing it. For has not one of the poets said, better to wait for a stone to fall than jump to catch it? And another has said, wisdom from the mouths of barbarians is as rare and precious as a ruby in a dunghill."

Pelli gritted her teeth at the insult. "I am immensely glad that you poets approve of my 'barbarian wisdom', Sidrash," she deadpanned. "My life has meaning once again."

Corin started clapping until Aravis shot him a warning look.

Sidrash Tarkhaan didn't seem to care one way or another. He just yawned and stuffed another honey cake in his mouth.

"Well, _I'm_ always game for a hunt," Caspian drawled. His girlfriends laughed at his bad pun.

"My Lord, perhaps we should reconsider—" said Lavinia, tapping the High King's shoulder.

"What do you think, Edmund?" asked Queen Susan. "You're the best judge here."

King Edmund sat awhile silent, staring between the pillars of the hall at the Sea, which was silky purple in the twilight.

"I will consider," he said at last. "I will think about it deeply."


	12. X: Tally Ho

**AN: **I just hope the "cowboys and Indians" symbolism isn't too heavy-handed. If you're reading, please review. Thanks for all your great feedback. ~GwF

* * *

><p>Chapter X: <em>Tally-Ho. <em>

Robin woke very early the next morning. He crept through the corridors and down the many staircases of the palace, till he reached the balcony of the great dining hall that overlooked the Sea.

There he stayed to watch the Sun slowly peel himself out of the ocean. Yesterday's sunset had been marvelously colorful thanks to the clear sky, but there were many clouds in the firmament this morning, so the Sun looked pale peach and the pink-and-purple cloudbanks were muted.

No one else was awake. Robin hadn't even heard a rooster crow.

He sat there in the silence, gazing Eastward, and remembered his nightmare.

**...**

It had started out like one of those Western films they'd show at the movie theater in Robin's hometown. In the dream he'd stood on a high green hill, watching the cowboys charge up, spurring their sweating horses.

Robin was one of the "Indians" in this sequence—somewhat. His coloring hadn't changed, but he wore no shirt and buckskin trousers and a quiver full of arrows on his back. Many others stood with him on the hill, but for now he didn't recognize any of them.

The cowboys shot everything in their path.

Robin felt his chest shatter as a bullet went through.

As he sank under his own dying weight, he looked into the face of his killer, whom he recognized even in the garb of a cowboy: Prince Caspian of Telmar.

"Why did you do this?" Robin asked, his voice shrinking as the life left it.

Caspian smiled down at him and said with a perfect country-western drawl, "Manifest Destiny."

You can imagine how frightened Robin was when he woke up.

**...**

"An excellent spot to meditate, is this not?" asked someone behind him, startling him back to the present.

Robin whirled around. "G-g-good m-morning, Your Majesty," he stammered. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No, lad, you can stay," replied King Edmund. "This balcony is more than big enough for the two of us and our thoughts."

He sat on the edge of the balcony, long legs dangling over the side, and turned his head to study Robin with his famously piercing dark eyes.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Robin…son of…Bram, Your Majesty. I'm up from Archenland visiting family."

"You don't have to lie to me, Robin. I know just from hearing how you speak that you are not an Archenlander, or a Narnian, or a Telmarine…where did you come from?"

Robin scrambled to his feet and started to run away, but the King grabbed his arm.

"Please don't hurt me, Your Majesty."

"I don't think I'll have to."

The boy looked at the marble floor. "I'm from another world, sire. I popped up here through a magic door."

Edmund raised his head, suddenly alert.

"What sort of 'other world'? Describe it."

"Hmm…it's a sad one, Your Majesty. There's no magic—even the colors there are duller than they are here. The people of my world have nearly wiped themselves out with their monstrous war-machines twice in the past thirty years."

"Thank you, lad." Edmund stared at the pale red sunlight sliding over the waters. "A world without magic," he mused. "A world without color. A world at war. Was this where we came from, Aslan? And if so, what does the coming of this boy mean?"

A tall, regal figure in a brown cloak came toward them. Robin saw the woman's black hair and assumed she was Queen Susan. But as she came closer he saw that she was tanned, while Susan was very fair, and her eyes were black while Susan's were blue. This woman's features were sterner, and she had wiry muscles in her thin arms.

King Edmund bowed to her. "My Lady Lavinia. Why do you stir so early?"

Lavinia looked with curiosity at Robin. "Who is Your Majesty's young friend?"

"My name's Robin, milady." Accompanied by a clumsy bow.

"A sweet name," she responded, before turning back to Edmund. "My Lord, have you reached a conclusion about the White Stag?"

He bit his lip pensively. "Aslan came to me while I slept saying we should go."

Lavinia sighed. "I would never interfere with the will of the Lion. But since Pelli spoke last night, my mind has known no peace."

"I understand. Pelli speaks from her soul, and she's never yet made a wrong prediction." The King cleared his throat. "But for diplomacy, we need something that will distract the Telmarine ambassadors until they go home, without making or breaking any promises. This is the best ploy yet. And besides—" he managed a grin "—I don't know about you, but there are some wishes I'd like granted."

The Secretary of Agriculture was not amused. "At what price, O King?"

They conversed for a while longer, but Robin heard none of it.

Aslan's words from yesterday echoed through his mind:

_While I am gone, darkness may fall on Narnia._

**...**

Later in the morning Robin met up with Macurdey, who found him a small loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a skin of water for the road.

"What do you think about the whole hunting thing today?" the boy asked.

The Rabbit shook his head gruffly. "Pelli is an honest woman, but I agree with Queen Susan. Whatever got the last people who hunted the Stag was probably the doing of the Witch. Since she and her compatriots are long-dead, I don't think we need fear the hunt itself. However, part of me does fear that young Prince Caspian might cause some mischief, out in the wilderness and far from law enforcement."

Robin lowered his voice. "Are you worried he'll try to assassinate someone?"

To which Macurdey replied in an even lower whisper, "There is no crime the Telmarines won't stoop to if they can frame the Mrekan for it. That's all I can tell you. We must keep close watch on Lavinia today."

**...**

By eight-thirty everyone was ready for the day's chase.

A party of about twenty-five stood waiting for the barge that would take them up the Great River to Lantern Waste.

Robin was small enough to share a horse with Prince Cor, while Macurdey was given the honor of riding with his friend Queen Lucy.

Robin didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help overhear a nearby conversation; a conversation that seemed inconsequential at present but became fraught with meaning in retrospect.

"Sister, you should have brought a different horn," King Peter was saying. "An _ordinary _horn."

Queen Susan shivered a little, despite the rising heat. "Pelli's story has been growing in the back of my mind. I would have left my Christmas gift at home, but the possibility remains that we may have need of it before nightfall."

The High King sighed and climbed into his saddle. "I wanted this to be a pleasant excursion, not an errand of fear."

Old Sidrash Tarkhaan sat in an Adirondack chair (Robin wondered what you called such chairs in Narnia since the Adirondacks aren't part of that world) watching the ducks drift by on the water.

"Hello there, Sid!" Corin exclaimed.

Cor smote himself on the forehead.

"As you can see," he whispered to Robin through clenched teeth, "my brother can be a remarkably audacious idiot."

"The Tarkhaan doesn't like being called 'Sid'?"

"I have no idea, but Corin should have more respect for foreigners and adults. He told me he'd like a blind date with your sister, but please don't let that happen. If she's like you, she can do much better than him."

Robin chuckled. "No offense, Your Highness, but she'd punch his lights out as soon as look at him."

"Hello, little barbarian princeling," the ambassador replied sleepily to Corin.

"Are you coming on the hunt today?"

"No. Even if I did not fear the witchcraft of the beast you so recklessly chase, I agree with the poet who said, 'the barbarian shrinks his intellect to expand his muscles, but the civilized and enlightened one sacrifices all to improve his already outstanding sapience."

"Sid, I have a question. If you Calormenes think your poets are so great, how come you never mention any by name? You always say 'a poet' or 'one of the poets'. Is all poetry anonymous in Calormen? Or do you make up the sayings on the spot and—"

Sidrash interrupted him here. "The poets also say, 'do not unduly distress yourself by explaining yourself to barbarians, for they lack the capacity to understand the simplest logic." Once he'd finished the sentence he promptly began to snore.

Now the fateful barge arrived to take the hunters away.

Some would never return.


	13. XI: A Sudden Detour

Chapter XI: _A Sudden Detour._

When Robin was quite young (before his mother died, in fact), his family would leave their bland suburban surroundings every summer to camp in some ancient, magnificent forest. Although he himself could remember precious little about these excursions, his siblings remembered a great deal, and Anna especially told wonderful family vacation stories.

One memory Robin retained on his own: miles and miles of green leaves high above with the sun pouring through them.

But never in his own world had he seen such a summer's day as this, such incredibly green leaves, such a vast bright blue sky (it'd cleared up considerably since they'd set out). The sunlight of Narnia even had more bands of purple and turquoise mixed in with the golden.

"Your Highness?" Robin asked Prince Cor, by way of small talk. "Can the horse we're riding speak?"

Cor shook his head. "No. A Talking Horse is only ridden in desperate times, battles or journeys of great import, where no other horse can be found. If we can possibly avoid it, we won't insult them by making them carry our weight."

"Have you ever needed to ride a Talking Horse?"

The Prince threw back his head and laughed. "Did I ever!" And he told Robin a heavily-abridged version of his escape from slavery in Calormen with Aravis, and Hwin and Bree the Talking Horses (Robin very much hoped he'd meet them sometime).

By the time the story was finished, the hunting party had reached a large clearing in the trees, where they dismounted to eat a picnic lunch and let their horses graze.

Robin and Cor sat on a blanket with Aravis and Corin. Eventually Macurdey and Queen Lucy came to join them.

"Your Majesty!" cried Robin, standing up and bowing. "What an unexpected pleasure!"

"You are quite the gentleman, young neighbor," replied she with a smile and a little curtsey. "What might your name be?"

For what seemed like the thousandth time in the past two days he donned his false identity: Robin son of Bram, visiting family in Narnia for the summer holidays.

King Edmund sat off by himself on a boulder in the forest, munching bread and cheese. His gaze flickered suspiciously at Robin before panning away to the shadows deeper in the wood.

"I'm so glad the weather cleared up," Lucy remarked. "I feel like we're all on the beginning of a lovely new adventure."

Her big pretty blue eyes were all sincerity, but Robin could tell even she was a bit anxious about today's excursion. She had heeded Pelli's words last evening.

Across the clearing Lavinia sat alone, gazing pensively all around and not touching her food. When the High King came by he put his arm around her and whispered reassurances, but nothing he did could make her smile.

**...**

When lunch was over everyone climbed back on their refreshed steeds and the chase resumed.

Perhaps fortunately for Robin, when the horses sped up, he lost his grip, slipped off from behind Cor, and struck his head against a hard root, knocking himself unconscious before he could even cry out in shock.

**...**

When he came to, dusk was draping slowly over the land. The colors of the sunset looked strangely pale between the black tree-trunks.

Robin felt something wet under the spot where he'd hit his head. Easing his fingers cautiously behind his scalp, he identified the stuff by touch: moss.

He lay propped up against a hollow log. Near him a small campfire burned.

He was not alone.

One companion was Aravis. She sat on the other side of the fire, Indian-style, with a Calormene scimitar bared upon her knees.

The other person gave him quite a start at first. She looked like a teenage girl, but her porcelain skin had a greenish cast, and her long wild auburn hair had a great many pointy objects protruding from it (they were only twigs and leaves, but in that light one could be forgiven for thinking they were horns). She was awfully thin— "willowy" to be precise—and her fingers seemed unusually long.

Aravis' eyes flickered in Robin's direction. "You're awake," she whispered. "How do you feel?"

"My head's a little sore, but other than that I'm fine. Thank you. What's going on? Where is everybody?"

"Speak softer, Son of Adam," said the strange girl in a voice like a soft spring forest breeze. "We do not know who else might hear us." She shivered.

"Ok then," he whispered. "What happened?"

The Calormene stared into the lengthening dark. "You fell off Cor's horse. Someone needed to stay behind and tend you. I volunteered. The rest went on ahead. That was over three hours ago. None of them have returned."

"Should we go look for them?"

She shook her head. "No. Night is almost upon us. If tomorrow the sun rises and still no one comes back this way, then we will search, and call out everyone who can help."

"A wise plan," concurred the girl with the greenish skin. "What is your name, Son of Adam?"

_Not again. _Once again he used his alias.

"Pleased to meet you, Robin. My name is Phyllis, and these woods are my home."

He guessed then that she was a Dryad, which explained her somewhat eerie looks.

They supped on the bread, cheese and picnic leftovers Aravis and Robin had in their packs.

Shortly thereafter Robin fell asleep with his sore head on his pillow of moss. Phyllis curled up inside the hollow log (which she said used to be her grandmother's tree of residence).

Aravis, rigorously self-trained as she was, sat guard all night, her scimitar edged with red from the campfire's embers.

Whatever dawn brought, it would have to get past her first.


	14. XII: A Change of Air

Chapter XII. _A Change of Air._

Sidrash Tarkhaan was in the exact same spot where the hunting party had left him the previous morning, napping in the Adirondack chair on the riverbank.

Corin wove between the other distraught hunters coming off the barge. Upon reaching the Tarkhaan he shook his arm frantically until the old man opened his eyes.

"Sid! Sid! Wake up, Sid!"

"Why do you pester me, little barbarian princeling?"

"It's the end of the world, Sid! The Kings and Queens have vanished, just like Pelli said happened to Queen Bacteria's friends all those centuries ago! The Stag must be evil!"

Sidrash yawned, letting his eyes re-close. "As one of the poets has said, 'I told you so.'" With that he went back to sleep.

Slowly the hunters climbed onto the riverbank as if in a daze. Frightened courtiers of every species huddled together whispering. Lavinia Etano led the crowd on foot, leading the four royal horses by their bridles in addition to her own black mare. The Secretary of Agriculture seemed to see everything and nothing, her eyes huge with horror and disbelief.

"What happened?" Robin asked Macurdey. "Is it too painful to talk about?"

"No, lad," the Rabbit sighed. "I have a feeling you'll need to know before the end."

He paused and looked over his shoulder to the Northwest. His ears and even his whiskers drooped forlornly.

"Truth be told, Robin, I don't _know_ exactly what happened. No one does, because no one saw, except presumably the Kings' and Queens' horses, which doesn't do us any good because they can't talk.

"Here's the little I _do _know: I took your place behind Prince Cor after you fell off. A while later the horse began to tire, so we stopped and dismounted to water him. Soon everyone except our dear monarchs was too exhausted to go any further. The four of them thought they saw the Stag, and they kept galloping on.

"About ten minutes later we realized we couldn't hear them anymore.

"We searched under every leaf and twig in that wood. Lavinia found their horses wandering. Peridan found the High King's cloak draped over a bar on the Lamppost. But that was the only trace."

"Were they abducted, do you think?"

Macurdey bit his lip. "There was no blood, nothing stolen from the saddle-bags, nothing broken, no signs of a struggle at all. I think they were indeed abducted—with magic."

"Do you think Pelli was right, then? Some evil follows this White Stag?"

The Rabbit shuddered. "I wish I could tell you, Robin. I just don't know."

In his head, Robin heard the Lion roar.

…**..**

_You must go back now! _Aslan shouted. _Soon this world will no longer be safe for you._

_ But sir, what about the task you sent me here to complete?_

_ Fear not. I will bring you back when the time is right, and when that happens you will not be alone. Now, fly!_

…**.**

Terror seized Robin. The fear that had lingered nebulous inside him for days now screeched to the front of his mind. The colors of Narnia were dulled and darkened in his eyes.

He brought his horse to stable and took off running.

He didn't dare say goodbye to any of his new friends. Aslan had made it clear there was no time.

Robin skidded down the staircase hewn from the living cliff. He sped across the beach, only stopping to tear off his Narnian shoes.

_There's the cave mouth!_

He splashed into the grotto, feeling the air change from the freshness of the Eastern Ocean to the stuffy wardrobe interior in Michigan. He slowed down just in time not to crash on his way out. His old wet clothes were back on, but he scarcely noticed them cold and heavy on his skin.

He stood there for a moment, panting. He was sure now: it was no dream, and he was not mad.

"Ben, have you seen Robin anywhere?" came Anna's voice from downstairs.

Robin looked over his shoulder at the wardrobe.

_I'll be back, _he thought. _And next time, I won't be alone._

He ran down the outside stairs and into the kitchen through the back door.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I am truly sorry for taking off so many months. I had hit a writer's block, but I'm not sure that's any excuse. Please forgive me. On the other hand, I now know where the story is going (I didn't before) and I will try to update again. Thank you for reading. ~GwF


	15. XIII: Sweet Sorrow

**AN: **Just two more chapters focusing on the OCs, dear readers, and then the spotlight will go to the Pevensies! Hang in there! ~GwF

* * *

><p>Chapter XIII. <em>Sweet Sorrow. <em>

A knock came at the front door. Anna answered.

On the front step stood a lovely girl slightly younger than herself, who had smooth deep brown skin and eyes the color of amber. Her umbrella had a large hole on one side, which was not adequately protecting her from the downpour.

"Um, hello, Delia," Anna stammered.

"Anna! May I come in?"

Anna stood stupidly for a second, deliberating.

Kitt was just coming out of the bathroom at this moment and saw her friend on the doorstep in the rain. She ran over and pushed Anna out of the way. "Delia! Come inside!"

She took Delia's wet coat and hung it haphazardly on the staircase's baluster since there was nowhere else to hang it.

"Nice of you to come," Anna squeaked, forcing a smile. Kitt shot her a killing look.

"I'm going to miss you all something terrible," said Delia warmly.

"We'll miss you too, friend," Kitt returned, with a sincerity in her voice that she never used for Anna anymore.

Robin came running in through the kitchen. On a normal day Delia and both his sisters would have noticed he was oddly flushed, and panting too hard to have run down merely a small flight of steps, but today they all had more than enough distraction.

"Delia!" he cried, running to her and throwing his skinny arms around her. "You came!"

"Did you really think I'd leave without seeing you off?" She straightened to her full height and held him at arm's length. "I expect all of you to write to me frequently."

"We will," he promised, and began sniffling.

"You'll write back, won't you?" Kitt asked, just to make sure.

Delia rolled her eyes. "Of course I will, Kitt. What a silly question. Though I can't imagine my letters being very interesting."

"What makes you think ours will be?" asked a male voice, and Ben climbed up the basement stairs and into the grey light. "What will we have to tell you, other than how stuffy our teachers are and how we hate having to wear our school uniforms?"

Delia chuckled. "I see nothing can make you lose your sense of humor, Benjamin Seamus Kilburn." Then, as if losing confidence, she lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry the guys couldn't make it," she added as Ben drew closer, still not meeting his gaze. "They're going to miss you too, and they all wrote you a letter." She reached into her sweater, pulled out a fat envelope, and handed it to him.

(Before this story began, Ben had been in a jazz band comprised of local teens. Delia sang and Ben played trumpet. I'm afraid I can't tell you their name because it changed about once a week).

Ben stuffed the envelope into his own sweater pocket. "I'll read it on the train." He locked eyes with Delia suddenly. "I'm gonna write to you first thing I do when I get there."

She smiled. "I would like that."

Then he threw awkwardness to the wind and hugged her.

"Ben," she whispered, "if you found someone else there, I wouldn't be angry with you."

"You know I'd never ditch you," he returned in a low mumble that he hoped his siblings couldn't hear. Quickly, before anyone could figure out what a brave thing he had done, he kissed her forehead lightly. Pulling away, he smiled at her and realized her big amber eyes glistened with tears.

That look was enough.

"Ahem," said Kitt, a bit too loud. She produced something from behind her back. "I made this for you, Delia. So you'll remember all of us, not just Ben."

Drawing was Kitt's only known talent, aside from getting into trouble. What she handed Delia now was a watercolor of the band playing—Toby on drums, Carey on piano, Mike on bass, Delia up front wielding her voice from God like the sword of an archangel, Bud the sax man on one side, Ben with his trumpet on the other. They had all been rendered in shades of blue.

"This is beautiful, Kitt!" Delia exclaimed, and pulled the younger girl into a hug. Kitt would have resisted being hugged by most people, but she liked Delia well enough to actually hug her back. "I will always treasure it."

…**.**

Twenty minutes later the Kilburns stood holding their suitcases on a bare-bones train platform, the rain weeping harder than they were.

Anna was already fretting about the future: _What if we get to New York and our ship has sailed? What if Mrs. Craven doesn't come to get us at the harbor? What if no one likes us at our new schools? _There were darker things lurking in the corners of her mind, but she refused to think about them.

Robin's thoughts were on Narnia. _Where did the Kings and Queens go? When will I come back? Who'll come with me?_

Kitt's frame of mind was always more violent than the others. _If Anna dares say anything about Ben and Delia, I will punch her. I don't care that Robin is here. I don't care that we're in mourning. If I could, I would go back in time to save her from becoming a cheerleader. She was completely colorblind before she made friends with all those awful girls. I'm glad I punched Cyndi von Pelt. She deserved it._

Ben was surprisingly happy: _Whew! I kissed Delia! I think she likes me! She likes me! I think she likes me! First thing I do when we settle down I'll write her a good long letter._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>For those of you who have read _Bud, Not Buddy, _yes, the sax man in Ben's band is _that_ Bud.

At this time in history, many black jazz bands would include one white member, like Ben, who could scout out gigs from people who might have refused to hire a black band.

Between racism, the Depression, and WWII, it was a dark time in American history, but I'd be ashamed to write a story set in the 1940s that didn't mention any of this.

And Anna will see the light. Aslan's not going to let her think that way for long. ~GwF


	16. XIV: Correspondence

Chapter XIV. _Correspondence._

_Dear Delia,_

_I'm writing from the upstairs study of Aunt Polly's house in London, on a window seat overlooking the park in her backyard. The sun is setting. This is a quiet, pretty neighborhood. We could have ended up in much worse places._

_ The train ride was long and monotonous. We stopped in Cincinnati and Kitt started chatting with this girl reporter who is also named Kit. Kit the reporter is about nineteen and works for the Cincinnati Enquirer._ _She was fun to talk to, but she got off at Buffalo._

_ I won't bore you with a detailed description of New York City, since you grew up there and I doubt it's changed much since then. We were amazed by the number of people—I think Robin didn't know there were that many people on Earth._

_We sailed on the H.M.S. Queen Jane. I heard some passengers complain about the frugal accommodations, but none of us noticed. It will take a long time to recover from this war. Anna was seasick the whole time. _

_Kitt is going to be making a lot of drawings of our surroundings and sending them to you. _[On this occasion Kitt had made a sketch of the _Queen Jane _as it sat in London Harbor and asked Ben to enclose it with his letter].

_We stay with a distant cousin of Mom's, who is apparently our only living relative. Her name is Mary Craven, but she insists that we call her Aunt Polly. She's about forty-five and lives alone in this neighborhood called Finchley. She was married (her last name at birth was Plummer) but her husband's dead. I was afraid she'd be a stuffy old geezer, but I was pleasantly surprised. She talks to us like we're equals, and she loves jazz. As I write, I've got Glenn Miller on her record player._

_Within a week we will begin school. Tomorrow we'll be fitted for uniforms. Robin and I are going to an all-guy school called Hennon House, and the girls will attend the neighboring St. Finbar's Academy for Young Ladies. With any luck we'll see each other on weekends. I doubt I'll find any fellas with my taste in music around here, but I'm trying to keep an open mind. Right now I can hear Kitt from down the hallway, instructing Robin how to get a bully in a headlock. I don't know why she bothers; we all know he won't do it. Kid never lifts a finger in his own defense._

_Delia, I'm worried about my brother. It's understandable that a kid who has dealt so much with death would have strange ideas, but it seems to Anna and Kitt and I that he's slipping away from us. _

_Remember that time he told us he found a magical medieval kingdom in the wardrobe upstairs? We thought we'd heard the last of it, but on the train ride he started talking about the place; he said it was called "Narnia" and everyone there worships a talking lion. _

_If the kids at Hennon House are anything like the kids at Riverside Elementary, they are going to kill him. At least at Riverside Elementary he could come home and be safe. Here we'll be stuck till Christmas. _

_Delia, I want to apologize for Anna's behavior to you when we left. I don't know what's gotten into her. I remember when she came to our rehearsals and had a good time, not caring who was what color. She started down this road when she became a cheerleader. Hopefully, now that we're here, she'll make new friends, good friends. _

_I gotta go—Aunt Polly just put supper on the table. Please write back as soon as you get the chance. I need to know you're listening. Say hi to Bud, Carey, Carole, Johnny, and Mike for me._

_I miss you,_

_Ben_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>For those of you who grew up on the American Girls (I did), the reporter named Kit mentioned in this chapter is _that _Kit. I couldn't resist. Carole and Johnny are Delia's younger siblings; I doubt either they or the other band members will have much of a role in the story, but they are named here just in case.

As always, I am amazed by your grace and patience. Please review. ~GwF


	17. XV: Adjusting

Chapter XVI. _Adjusting._

James Harvey leaned against the brick wall that marked the border between the grounds of Hannon House and St. Finbar's Academy. This was his favorite haunt. He had several girlfriends at St. Finbar's who would climb over the wall to see him. Also, should a boy he and his gang didn't like walk by, there was usually no one near enough to hear the poor lad screaming for mercy.

Today Harvey was alone. He took a long whiff of smoke and smirked at the grey clouds above as if daring them to rain on him.

A schoolmate was coming down the hill in his general direction. Harvey narrowed his eyes at the boy, trying to place him. The kid was familiar—pale skin, black hair—but Harvey could not remember his name.

When the boy was close enough for Harvey to see his facial features clearly, the bully nearly gasped in shock. _Good God! It's Edmund Pevensie!_

Edmund was a year or two younger than Harvey, and spent most of his time in school trying to get Harvey and his gang to like him. The lad had a cruel streak as wide as Harvey's own. There was nothing he wouldn't do to humiliate and torment underclassmen, sissies, nerds, or his elder brother Peter. In short, not a bad kid. Sometimes, when his other friends weren't looking, Harvey would even deign to share his pack of cigarettes with E. Pevensie.

But Edmund had apparently changed a great deal over the summer.

He had left school last term prepubescent: pimple-faced, knobby-kneed and squeaky-voiced. Now he was as big as Harvey; his acne had cleared, his form had filled out, and he muttered under his breath in a voice deeper than that of any other boy at Hannon.

"Hullo, Pevensie," Harvey drawled.

Edmund looked up, startled. His huge eyes snapped so wide open they nearly swallowed his face.

Harvey snickered. "You're so funny when you're surprised, Pevensie. You look like a bloody insect."

"Good morning to you too, Master Harvey," replied Edmund flatly. "I am sorry to have disturbed you." He turned around and started walking back in the direction he'd come.

"Would you like a smoke?" Harvey held out his cigarette.

"No. I don't smoke anymore. Good day."

"Hey! What's with you? We were friends last term, remember?"

"We _were _friends."

"Don't you know who you sound like?" Harvey raised his voice, but there was no one to be seen but the two of them, and if there had been others about he probably wouldn't have cared.

Edmund kept walking as if he didn't hear.

"You sound like your brother—like the oh-so-wonderful oh-so-popular oh-so-golden Peter Pevensie."

At this Edmund turned on his heel and marched toward Harvey, fists clenched, murder in his eyes. Harvey could taste the anger in the air; he got high off it the way some do off illegal substances (and he was no stranger to those either).

"Listen, snake," Edmund hissed. "Insult me and I can walk it off. But say anything—_anything_—about my brother or sisters or anyone in my family again, and I will turn this school into your own personal Hell." Every visible muscle on his face and body was tensed. He stared unblinking deep into Harvey's eyes. There was no doubt he meant his threat.

Harvey wanted to say something now just to spite him but his words died before they reached his mouth. Wherever this new Edmund Pevensie had come from, he was bloody terrifying, and James Harvey was, like all bullies, a coward inside.

He watched Pevensie stalk away into the underbrush and knew with despair that his reign of terror at Hannon House was finally nearing its end.

…**..**

"Do you suppose we'll ever go back, Ed?" Peter asked over lunch later that day. All the Pevensies asked each other that question frequently when they were alone.

Edmund sighed. "I can't answer that, Pete. Only _He _can."

"Not that there's any guarantee that he will," Peter grumbled. "He's not a tame lion." He paused, as a comparatively pleasant thought made him smile despite himself. "I heard Harvey complaining to his lackeys about your 'insolence' and 'ingratitude.' What happened, Ed?"

"Nothing much. I was taking a walk and met him accidently. He offered me a cig but I turned him down and walked away. No doubt he's furious. All his goons will be out for me in full force." He chuckled grimly. "It's rather funny that he thinks he can intimidate us—we who faced armies and slew monsters."

"Mm." Peter's eyes grew distant. "How do you think they're doing, back in Narnia without us?"

"I'm sure Lavinia is leading them well."

"Ah, dear Lavinia." Peter's voice wavered as he fought the urge to weep. "I miss everyone we knew back there, but her especially. I love her still. She probably feels like I abandoned her."

"Lavinia's a clever woman, Peter. I'm sure she understands that whatever happened by the Lamppost was out of our control."

"If we were called back, do you think we would be the same age we are now, or would we be the same ages we were when we left?"

Edmund shrugged. "I have no idea. We should ask Professor Kirke when we see him again."

"I'm just picturing how awkward it would be if we went back, as we are now, and I met Lavinia again. She would be twenty-seven and I would be seventeen. It would never work out."

"I've heard of women marrying much younger men. But I understand your point. The hardest part for me is learning to think like a kid again. I feel rankled when adults boss me about. I notice the beauty of twenty-and-thirty-something women; when I look at pretty girls my own age, I feel like I'm doing something wrong. I'm going through puberty all over again—at least you haven't had _that _pain."

"True, true, I have not," Peter returned with a grin. "Sometimes Su and I forget how distressing that must be for you and Lu. As far as puberty goes, though, you're well over the worst of it." He stared out the lunchroom window absently.

"Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember that story Pelli told us about when Queen Tirelia and her friends went hunting the White Stag centuries ago?"

"How could I forget?"

"Do you think that maybe that hunting party turned up in our world, just like we did?"

"By Jove, Ed, I hadn't thought of that! What a fascinating idea."

Over Peter's shoulder Edmund saw another pair of brothers sitting alone at the table behind theirs. One was about sixteen and the other ten at the most. The elder, who was dark-haired and unkempt, was completely unfamiliar to Edmund, but he knew he had seen the younger one before.

"Pete, behind you," he whispered. "Do you recognize the kid with the red hair?"

Peter glanced at the strangers quickly. "We shouldn't stare at them, Ed. They'll get nervous. I have seen that boy before, but I can't remember where."

…

Robin couldn't help being frightened of his new school.

Hannon House was huge, a good three times the size of his school back in Michigan. Its interiors were gothic, or at least to Robin they seemed gothic. The ceilings were so dreadfully high, and the dorm rooms were dark.

At the moment he was hiding under a table in the library, writing a letter to Kitt, who had insisted upon corresponding with him.

_Greetings Kitt,_

_I suppose things could be worse._

_ I wanted to share a room with Ben, but that didn't work out. Instead I'm rooming with three boys in my same year. Their names are Planter, Grey and Jones. They seem nice, but they're all taken up with cricket and rugby, while I as you well know prefer my books to any athletic activity. _

_ Mr. Blackwood, the history teacher, is a very kind gentleman. He understands that I don't know much about English history, so he loaned me a compilation of Shakespeare's histories, saying I might not get one-hundred percent historical fact from them, but I will get the right spirit. _

_ Other than him, the teachers run the gamut from inoffensive to downright nasty. I just try to do all my work with my best penmanship and turn it in on time. _

_ I don't see Ben nearly as often as I'd like, but from the little time I've spent with him I think we feel the same way about school in general. We sit together at lunch. We are alone. He's tried to make friends, but unsuccessfully. _

_ You asked in your last letter if I have had problems with bullies. I don't get beat up every day here like I did back in Riverside, Michigan. Here it's just the little things—my roommates don't talk to me, my classmates don't talk to me, my teachers (on the whole) think I'm stupid, and there's this one older boy named James Harvey who likes calling me a sissy, among other insults that I will refrain from inscribing. _

_ I am truly sorry that Lily Kingsbury and Jenny Featherstone and their gang pick on you, though I know neither of us is surprised—_

He stopped writing here because two older boys (he could only see their legs) had sat at the table he was hiding under. One of them kicked him.

He cried out in pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the boy exclaimed. "I didn't know anyone was down there."

"We assumed this table was empty," added his companion. "But you can sit with us if you like. We won't hurt you."

Sore and embarrassed, Robin gathered up his pen and paper and crawled out from under the table.

He froze in shock when he saw who he'd been talking to.

The blond boy was about seventeen, his black-haired companion about fourteen. Their coloring was dissimilar, but there was something about the cut of their features that told Robin they were brothers. When they'd last met, these two wore the garb of kings, for kings they were, and they were both in their twenties. But he recognized them nonetheless.

"Your Majesties," he whispered, daring a quick bow. "What are you doing here?"


	18. XVI: Dreams and Chances

Chapter XVII. _Dreams and Chances. _

Susan and Lucy Pevensie turned quite a few heads when they returned to St. Finbar's Academy.

Only a summer had gone by, but they were clearly completely different girls. They glowed with grace and poise as they strode down the school halls.

Susan no longer fretted about her appearance; she knew such beauty as hers needed little adornment.

Lucy was effervescent in company, no longer a shy little girl who could barely speak in the presence of strangers.

A few lucky schoolmates had even caught glimpses of the Pevensie brothers—they reported that Peter was even more handsome and golden than before, and Edmund, who had left school as a petulant pipsqueak, was now tall, dark, and a good catch.

"They stayed with some crazy old professor in Derbyshire for the summer," girls whispered through the hallways as the sisters passed by. "Maybe all the fresh air did it?"

…**.**

They had not just changed physically either.

As Lucy descended a staircase, she saw one of the nasty older girls shove another student. The victim, a skinny awkward thing whom Lucy had never seen before, tripped down the stairs, overlong limbs pinwheeling. Her books flew out of her arms and scattered all over the landing. Other girls were coming down, and some of them didn't even bother to walk around her.

A year ago Lucy would have been so frightened of the upper classmen she would have kept walking as if nothing had happened. Now she ran down the steps—or more accurately, slid down the bannister—reaching the stranger just as she began collecting herself. "Would you like help with your books?"

The girl grinned at her. She was Edmund's age or a little younger, and towered over Lucy. "Thanks, I'd love some."

Together they stooped and the girl gathered all her books back.

"What's your name?" the stranger asked. She spoke with a distinct accent—American, Lucy decided. _What part of America, I wonder?_

"I'm Lucy Pevensie. Who are you?"

"The name's Kilburn, Kitt Kilburn. Who shoved me?"

Lucy sighed. "That's Jenny Featherstone. Don't mind her; she does things like that to everyone who's not in her clique."

Kitt looked up, caught the eye of Jenny Featherstone, and winked at her. "This ain't over, princess," she growled.

"Oh Kitt, don't bother with her. Whatever you're planning, it won't work."

"It always worked back home." The two girls continued down the stairs. "Then again, school was a lot different back there. We didn't have to wear uniforms. We could go home at three o'clock and sleep in our own beds."

"Sounds nice."

"Some of it was. Also, there were both boys and girls at my school, so we always played games at recess. Baseball's my favorite."

"Baseball's like cricket, isn't it?"

"Dunno. I've never seen a cricket match before. Is it fun?"

"It's great fun! Maybe I could arrange for you to watch Peter and Edmund play. They're very good at it."

"Peter and Edmund?"

"My brothers. They attend Hannon House on the other side of the brook."

"Funny…I also have two brothers attending that school. Their names are Ben and Robin. How old are your brothers?"

"Peter is seventeen; Edmund is fourteen."

"Ben is sixteen and Robin is ten. I guess none of them are in the same classes."

"How old are you?"

"I'm thirteen. And you?"

"Ten."

They now entered the library, where several older girls sat around a table reading. Two were sitting close together and seemed to be getting along well—one a striking beauty with sleek black hair and marble skin, the other an unusually tall Titian blonde.

"That's my sister Susan," whispered Lucy, nodding at the black-haired girl.

"That's my sister Anna," Kitt replied, indicating the other.

Lucy stifled a giggle. "So many coincidences! What are the chances we'd both have a sister and two brothers and all of us attending the same schools?"

"Few indeed." Kitt punched Lucy's shoulder as a brother would. "I have a feeling you and I will be very good friends."

…**..**

That night Lucy dreamt of Narnia.

She often did—she _usually _did—but most of the dreams were pleasant, built from joyful memories. Tonight that was not the case.

Lantern Waste was burning. Dryads shrieked out of existence as flames devoured their trees. Fauns and beasts ran for their lives. The Lamppost had been torn from its base.

_Tumnus! _Lucy thought desperately. She started running in the direction of her old friend's little cave-dwelling, but the smoke and fire was so thick she could not be sure that she was in fact headed that way.

The sky above was pure black. Night had fallen without even letting a star peep out to guide her. In the moment she looked up, she tripped on a tree-root and fell on her face in the dirt and ash. The screams of the frightened and dying pierced her skull so thoroughly it was as though they came from _inside _it.

_I am a Queen of Narnia. My people are threatened, and I will do whatever it takes to save them._

With this thought came a burst of energy not unlike that of mothers who find themselves momentarily able to lift trucks or giant trees off their trapped children. She pulled herself to her feet and took off running, making her ears her compass, in the direction where she figured most of the screams were coming from.

A girl knelt crumpled in the center of all the destruction, weeping. The girl was in her late teens, wearing a red gown that must have once been beautiful. There was blood and ash matted in her blonde hair, and a royal circlet was perched precariously on her head .

She was flanked by two women in armor—Lucy recognized the handsome dark one carrying the Narnian and Mrekani standards as Lavinia Etano right away. The other had auburn hair and faced west the whole time; Lucy never saw her face.

With great effort Lucy tried to call out, asking what was going on. But although she could feel the smoke stinging under her eyelids, she could not make her lips move. She realized then that she did not walk so much as float just above the ground like a phantom.

The armored women pulled the crowned girl to her feet. When she spoke, it seemed to be with great effort.

"Who dares burn my trees?" she croaked. "Who dares attack my people?"

Lucy never found out, because at that moment she woke up, sweating. Her arms still felt scorched by the dream's smoke.

_Please, Aslan, send us back to Narnia. My country may be in danger._


	19. XVII: Anger In, Anger Out

**AN: **Please note that this chapter contains some cruel language. It is said by a bully and I think it's made pretty clear in the story that we're not supposed to call people names like this. ~GwF

* * *

><p>Chapter XVII. <em>Anger In, Anger Out.<em>

"I don't know what happened to you, Master Pevensie," said the geometry teacher. He was a small, stiff man whose nose was more like a snout. "You used to be my best pupil, but this year you've been so…distracted. Has this Professor Kirke instilled you with bad study habits?"

Across the desk from him sat Peter, fiddling with the lapel of his school blazer. "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Hearst. I'm trying my best."

"Then your 'best' is clearly not good enough."

Peter didn't dare to meet the man's eyes. He could feel anger rising hot up his throat, threatening to spill out of his mouth if he tried to speak.

_How I wish we were in my kingdom now. There you would not have the audacity to chide me in this manner. _

_ I may seem like a child to you—no, I think even you can sense that I am no ordinary schoolboy._

_ I have gone _mano a mano _with sorceresses and giants._

_ I have hacked off the long necks of dragons, their dying breath scorching the hair from my arms._

_ I have nearly burned, drowned, and fallen to my death more times than even you with all your knowledge of arithmetic could count._

_ I have tasted both the rich wine of triumph and the sour brew of despair._

_ I have been the first to charge and the last to retreat._

_ I have carried that greatest burden of all—for fifteen years, I was a King, a High King, ruling by divine right. I like to think I was a good King._

_ When my people starved, I went hungry. When they had no fuel in the winter, I put out my own fire. When they were happy, their joy strengthened me. When they mourned, my heart was broken._

_ The Tisroc of Calormen feared me. King Lune of Archenland considered me a son. The Chief Priest of the Mrekan called me brother. The Queen of Fricia never even met me, and she trusted me to keep her people safe._

_ I supported two sisters and a brother—we were as one soul in four bodies. _

_ It took a long time, but I also gained the love of a worthy woman. We grew up together, from callow adolescents to wise adults. If not for that mishap with the Lamppost, she would now be my Queen, and we might have even had an heir._

_ Most of all, the King Above All Kings, Aslan Himself, approved of me. He placed me on my throne, corrected me when I erred, and was my hope in dark and deadly times. Under His guidance I lived up to my name, Peter—I became the rock on which Narnia was anchored._

_ What about your life, Mr. Hearst? You weaseled your way out of serving in the first Great War; you were conveniently too old for the second. You live in a fine soulless modern house, married to a shrew who has borne you two point five sub average children. For fun and for money, you drill lines and equations into boys' heads, hoping they come out as dull and bitter as you have._

_ Spare me your self-important rhetoric. I am the man here. You are the child. _

…**..**

"So the pompous old fool gave me forty extra pages for being a 'dunce'," Peter informed his brother over lunch.

Edmund shook his head with empathy.

They could no longer discuss Narnia over lunch, for now they no longer sat alone. Robin Kilburn ate with them, as did his older brother Ben, and some nerd named Melville Scythley who was apparently Ben's only friend.

The elder Kilburn brother was an oddity. He barely ate, bathed or slept, and it showed. His favorite things were jazz, poetry, and modern art, and ranting about jazz, poetry, and modern art. He had many tics—for example, they'd all learned by now that whenever he leaned back in his chair, pointed skyward, and said "I tell you _this, _my friends"—that another dissertation was coming.

The Pevensie boys were unsure how to respond, since they knew little if anything about his favorite topics. Robin, who never said anything if he could avoid it, seemed able to tune his brother out. Scythley apparently thought Kilburn was some kind of genius and hung on his every word.

"I tell you _this, _my friends," Kilburn announced, "only music can prevent the world from going to war again."

"How?" Edmund asked, before he remembered that he'd never get a straight answer and shouldn't bother looking for one.

Kilburn shot him a look as if he'd just asked whether water is wet. "Don't you feel peace when you hear good music? Recharged? Spiritually whole? Closer to God?"

"Hm…I suppose I have. I just never thought about it that way." This was completely true—if a choir of a thousand Sea People chanting hymns in beat with the breaking waves on your coronation didn't make you feel spiritually whole, you were probably dead.

'So you're saying we all have to play music all the time and then we'll never go to war again?" Peter inquired skeptically.

Kilburn shook his head, which made his uncombed brown hair flop about in a rather silly-looking manner. "Sadly, we can't play it all the time. But we can carry its wholeness inside us, wherever we go and whatever we do."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Scythley, who hadn't understood a word.

…

As the afternoon got old, the Pevensie brothers took a stroll around the grounds.

Hannon House and St. Finbar's were in the Lake country, which in addition to the eponymous lakes is full of rugged little hills and small pretty forests. The grounds of these two schools were fine examples of this ecosystem. If you imagined away the sound of cars driving in the distance, it could be Narnia—especially at this time of day when dusk was creeping slowly in.

"I just realized something horrid, Pete."

"What's that?"

"You know that photograph you look at during lunch, of the four of us in front of the Professor's house? I caught Scythley staring at it. I think he's taken a fancy to Susan."

"That is indeed a horrid thought, Ed."

At this moment Robin came tearing up the incline towards them, eyes threatening to fall out of his head.

"Your Majesties," he panted.

Peter laid a protective hand on the kid's shoulder. "How many times have we told you? You needn't address us by our titles. You can call us Pete and Ed, like all our friends do."

"Please! There's no time! It's Harvey! He's gonna kill her!"

With that he took off again, the two Kings at his heels.

It was irrelevant whether they knew the victim; intervening is simply what Aslan would have wanted.

…

This is what happened.

The moment classes ended at St. Finbar's, Kitt Kilburn had broken off from the herd of fellow schoolgirls and run through the woods the low wall that marked the border of the two schools.

She'd gotten Robin's letter, which disturbed her greatly.

She remembered how back in Michigan Robin had denied there was anything wrong at school, and she had to find out for herself that a gang of boys was stealing his lunch and beating him up on the walk home. If the bullying here was already bad enough that he'd told her about it, she knew she had to stop it right now.

Kitt did not trust the adults to handle the situation; she remembered what a dismal job those in her old town had done. Anna would do nothing, because she didn't think it was proper to visit Hannon House without a chaperone, and propriety of course trumped everything. Ben was so oblivious to the world around him that he might not have even noticed.

_So once again, saving Rob is up to me, _Kitt thought. _That's ok. I like saving people. It's just annoying that I always have to do it alone._

She vaulted the wall and landed hard on her tailbone. Cursing the pain away, she stood up—to find some teenaged boy holding her little brother up by his shirt-collar and yelling in his face.

"What made you think you could say that about me? In front of the whole school, what's more?"

"Because you were wrong to say that about my brother," Robin squeaked. "He's not a fag."

The bully guffawed. "Why, yes he bloody well is, and so are you."

_This must be Harvey._

"Hey you," Kitt growled, sneaking up behind the aggressor. "Drop him."

Robin saw her and cried out in alarm. "Kitt, what are you doing here? You gotta run—"

The bully dropped him hard and turned to sneer at Kitt. "Why did you climb over the wall, ginger? You're too ugly to have a boyfriend here."

"Thanks, I'm flattered. I came to see my little brother...and make sure no one bothers him."

Harvey stepped toward her, menacing.

She rolled her shoulders, balled her fists, and widened her stance.

Their eyes locked.

"You don't have to fight me, punk," he hissed. "You have ten seconds to climb back over that wall."

At this point a sane girl would have probably have taken that opportunity. A sane girl would have thought, _This guy has three times my muscle mass and he's not afraid to use it. I should back down. Fighting won't solve anything._

But Kitt Kilburn was barely sane to begin with—and if you messed with her little brother, she could be downright psychotic.

Adrenaline flooded her limbs; blood drummed in her ears.

"Do I _look _like a coward to you?" she snarled.

Harvey punched her.

…

I will give Kitt credit for holding up as long as she did. I don't think I could have done it.

But although more than competent enough for foes her own size, she was outclassed and outmuscled by James Harvey.

A blow landed on her stomach.

She crumpled, the grassy autumn earth hard and cold against her bare knees.

Harvey had never had so much fun. He was far too cowardly to fight physical equals, but a skinny younger boy—or in this case, girl—was another story.

He twisted one of Kitt's arms behind her back and rained punches on her with his free hand.

She could not rise, nor could she hit him back. All she could do was block, which made very little difference.

_Grandma was right, _she thought grimly. _My temper will get me killed before my time. _

…**..**

Robin, meanwhile, had taken off running for help. _I'll fetch Their Majesties the Kings! They can fix this! They can fix anything!_

…**.**

Desperate, Kitt mentally reviewed her options.

As previously stated, there were none.

"Let me up!"

"No."

"Why? Too chicken?"

She grinned up at her adversary.

Kitt's smile was not pleasant to look upon. It was so wide it appeared to split her face in half, and it was full of overlarge teeth. The effect was shark-like, and she made it worse by bugging her eyes. (All the Kilburn kids could do this at need, but Kitt had made an art of it).

Harvey looked frightened but he didn't cease his attack.

Next thing Kitt knew she was yanked out of Harvey's grip by someone behind her.

"Of course you invited some friends," she spat. Although she realized that Harvey looked furious at the intruder…

…whom she twisted to face. He was her age or not much older, a bit taller (but she was a very tall girl) and quite strong. He was pale, with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, jet-black hair, and large eyes the color of coffee grinds. She'd never seen him before, but his features reminded her of someone.

"I am no friend of his," he muttered in reply.

"Kitt, don't struggle! They're on our side!" cried Robin, who had just returned.

With him came a tall strong youth about seventeen. Although he was tanned, golden-haired and blue-eyed, Kitt thought there was a strong resemblance between him and the guy restraining her—they were cousins if not brothers. About them both there was an air of authority, and later when she had time to reflect, she would enviously wonder how they projected it.

"Beating up a defenseless girl?" the blond boy said to Harvey. "That's a new low even for you."

"I'm hardly defenseless, mister," Kitt blurted, as usual speaking before she thought. She tipped her head at Harvey. "This guy just fights dirty."

"Come off it, Pevensie," the bully drawled. ""We were only having a little fun."

_Pevensie! Of course! They're Lucy's brothers!_

The blond shook his head. "I saw the face she was making when we came in. People who are having fun don't do that."

The black-haired boy released Kitt and strode toward Harvey, his brother joining him. "Understand this, you worm. If Peter or I catch you doing this to _anyone, _let alone a female, on or near the school grounds—"

"You already told me. You'll turn the school into my own personal Hell."

"DON'T TEMPT US," the blond intoned.

Harvey backed away slowly, hands raised in surrender. "It was all a little joke, boys. You never did have any sense of humor, Peter. It's a pity Ed had to become like you."

Kitt ran to her little brother and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry you had to put up with that, Rob," she whispered. "Hopefully I made it stop."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I should have probably mentioned by now that I love giving shout-outs to classic literature in my stories. The fight scene here was inspired by the scene in _To Kill a Mockingbird _when Scout beats up Cecil Jacobs for insulting her father. The conversation between the Kilburn kids in the Prologue was inspired by the opening conversation between the March sisters in _Little Women._

Also, could you all who are reading please _please_ _**please**_ _**PLEASE** _leave me a review, just to let me know that you're still here? Thank you very much. ~GwF

Cookies for anyone who made it this far: (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)


	20. XIX: A Complication

Chapter XIX. _A Complication._

Obviously this girl was Robin's sister; they had the same coloring and similar facial features. Guessing from the pimples that covered her face, she was probably a bit younger than Edmund.

As soon as Harvey left, she hugged Robin and whispered something to him.

"Please don't fight anymore, sis," he replied, loud enough for the Pevensie brothers to hear. "Imagine what'll happen if the teachers find out."

"I think you're safe for now," Peter interjected. "Harvey will be too embarrassed to tell. There were no witnesses other than us, and you are assured of our silence. However, I would not recommend making a habit of this."

The girl looked up at him and Edmund warily. She released her brother and stood, eyes still fixed on the Kings. "Rob, perhaps you can introduce me to your friends."

"Of course. Where are my manners?" The younger boy blushed and steered her closer to them. "These are Peter and Edmund Pevensie. Gentlemen, this is my sister Katherine Kilburn."

She rolled her eyes. "Please don't call me Katherine; nobody does. You can call me Kilburn or Kitt." She shook hands with them both. She had a remarkably firm handshake for such a bony thing. "Pleased to meet you two. I know your sister Lucy. She's a great kid."

"Do you know our other sister?" Peter asked. "She goes to St. Finbar's too."

"Yeah, I know Susan. My sister gets along pretty well with her." These words sounded rather sad.

Edmund always went right for the jugular, even in the first moments of an acquaintance. "Do you get in fights often?"

Kitt smiled at him with a hint of that shark's grin. "Perhaps not as often as I should."

"We promise we'll protect Robin," said Peter kindly. "You needn't climb over the wall to challenge James Harvey anymore."

"Thanks. I'm much obliged."

"So am I," Robin murmured.

The sun had very nearly set. Kitt looked at her wristwatch.

"Nice to meet you fellas. If you'll excuse me, I gotta run." She shook hands with both Pevensies again and hugged her little brother, then scrambled back over the wall and disappeared.

The three boys were now alone in this corner of the schoolyard.

Edmund scanned the area with his eyes just to make sure of this fact. When he was satisfied, he whispered to Peter, "Fire ahead."

Peter led Robin to a tall old tree, under which they all sat down.

"So, Robin, maybe you can tell us the entirety of your Narnian adventures."

"Sure. The first time I went it was when you four were crowned. I was lost and scared, but Mr. and Mrs. Beaver found me wandering about and took pity on me."

"Dear old Beavers. They were good friends of ours too, you know."

"It struck me how Lucy was my age and already considered valiant. I'd like to be valiant someday."

"I'm sure you will be."

…**..**

Kitt had just landed on the other side of the wall when she heard the soft voice of Peter Pevensie say the worst possible phrase:

"So, Robin, maybe you can tell us the entirety of your Narnian adventures."

_Please, God. No. Not again._

She didn't want to fight these guys. For starters, there were two of them. But also, they were Lucy's brothers, and they had seemed so nice…

_Exactly, _said her inner voice of reason. _Don't assume that they're harassing him. They might actually be trying to help._

Kitt's inner voice of reason didn't speak up often, so when it did, she listened. She remained crouched on the ground, still and quiet.

By the time Robin mentioned Lucy and being valiant, Kitt left, figuring she had heard all she needed to.

Somewhere among the worlds, Aslan was laughing.

…**..**

Anna Kilburn sat on the windowsill of her dorm room, disinterestedly browsing a copy of _Vogue _that Susan Pevensie had loaned her. Occasionally she glanced up to look at the leafless trees clawing at the November dull purple sunset.

November was Anna's favorite time of year; it was so exquisitely quiet and desolate. _A good time to reflect on one's life and reinvent oneself, to appreciate one's blessings and grow closer to one's family. I need desperately to do all this, or I will never respect myself again._

Feeling eyes on her, she saw her sister idling in the doorway—uniform rumpled, knees dirty, left eye ringed in purple-black—and remembered why her family was growing apart in the first place.

She sighed. "I'm not even going to ask, Kitt. I don't want to know."

"I'm sorry, Anna."

Those three words were the last Anna had expected to hear. She sat straight up. Every other time Kitt had a snappy retort. Something must be wrong.

"Does it have anything to do with Robin?"

The younger girl sat down beside her on the windowsill. "Yep. I just went over there to pay Rob a call. I found this big guy yelling at him. I told the boy to back off, and he punched me. Please don't tell on me. I'm trying hard not to get into scrapes, and I don't want Aunt Polly to think poorly of me."

Anna eased her arm over her sister's bony shoulders. She was secretly overjoyed when Kitt didn't pull away. "I won't tell on you. For once it sounds like you didn't strike first. I know you're working to control your temper, and you're getting much better at it. Is that all?"

"That was just the beginning. I was not allowed the honor of defeating this Harvey fella myself. Peter and Edmund Pevensie came along just then, and they let him have it."

"Susan's brothers!" Anna exclaimed. "I've seen them in photos. Aren't they handsome?"

Kitt shrugged. "Dunno. They're not ugly." Anna knew this was all the admission she would get out of her younger sister on the subject; she was at that awkward age.

"Are they nice?"

"They were _very _nice to _me_."

"I think I know where this is headed." Anna shook her head. "Poor Robbie."

"As I walked away I could hear one of them say to him, 'So, Robin, maybe you can tell us the entirety of your Narnian adventures.'"

"He's still talking about that?...Maybe he mentioned it to them and they're trying to help?"

"No, sister. If anything, they were encouraging him. They were _in _the story." And Kitt told the rest of what she had overheard.

When she had finished, they were both quiet for a moment, each struggling with her own thoughts.

"I don't understand," Anna said at last. "Harvey sounds like one of the types who you can't expect any better from, but Peter and Edmund come from a good family. Why would they do this?"

"I have no idea, but if they continue they're gonna be sorry!" Kitt cried, then she added in a lower voice, "No. I can't think like that anymore. It's a bad habit. Should we tell Ben, do you think?"

"By all means. Can you please fetch me some stationary?"

…**..**

Upon receiving his sisters' letter, Ben was filled with shame.

_Man, I really dropped the ball on this one! I didn't even know how bad things were with Harvey. Gotta keep a closer eye on Rob. This can't go on._

_ Why would the Pevensies scare off Harvey only to take his place?_

_ I wish Delia were here. She understands this sort of thing much better than I._

But it would take a long time to notify Delia, and Ben knew he had already wasted enough.

He saw Robin coming down the hall in his direction, heading to another classroom, and tapped his younger brother's arm as he walked by.

"Hello, Ben. What's up?"

The surprise on Robin's face when Ben hugged him was priceless. "Sorry that I didn't protect you, little brother. I'm going to make sure your trouble ends today."

…

_I wonder where our companions are, _Edmund thought.

He sat alone at breakfast this morning. He didn't miss Kilburn or Scythley at all, but both he and his brother were growing fond of Robin.

Peter returned to the table with a plate of toast. Once he sat down Edmund noticed the white piece of paper protruding from his chest pocket.

"I saw this slipped under my door when I woke up this morning, Ed. Read it. I don't know how to respond."

On the paper, which was folded as though it had been in an envelope, was written the following:

_Your Majesties,_

_I write with unpleasant news—my brother has forbid me to speak with you. He and my sisters wish to "cure" me of my "delusions" (you know what this refers to) and they have somehow discovered that you "encourage" me in them._

_I apologize for my siblings. Please don't judge them; they're good people, and they really do think they're helping me. They act out of ignorance, not malice. They do not know the Lion._

_ I'll miss you terribly. Please keep me in your prayers—if I can't talk to anyone about Narnia, I fear I shall truly go mad._

_May Aslan bless and keep you,_

_Robin Kilburn_

(For a ten-year-old boy, he had exceptionally legible handwriting).

"Poor kid," Edmund whispered.

This brought back bad memories for both. Peter recalled his skepticism—he'd only been trying to help Lucy, much as Robin's siblings were trying to help him, but it had made Lu doubt her sanity. Edmund recalled something far worse—how he had tormented Lucy about Narnia, even after he knew she was telling the truth. Of course, that was just the first layer of his guilt, but luckily it didn't appear that the Kilburns had sunk anywhere near that low.

They realized now that Lucy had been extremely lucky—they had all followed her into the Wardrobe within the month. Lion only knew when or if Robin would ever go back himself, let alone bringing along the other three.

_How can we help, Aslan?_

…**..**

That evening Tommy Planter found a notebook that had been pushed under the door and labeled "For Robin Kilburn."

"Hey, you have a present," he announced.

Robin picked up the notebook and took it to his bed to inspect it. It was thin, with a dark green cover, and its pages were blank—except for the first, which was inscribed with penmanship so elegant it would not have looked out of place in Elizabethan times.

_Dear Robin,_

_We are immensely sorry about this development. Peter and I are going to greatly miss conversing with you. We're also grieved that you won't get to meet our sisters—well, meet them again. You would like them, especially Lucy. _

_ Peter and I don't judge your siblings. We've certainly been in their shoes. In fact, there's something quite admirable about how quickly they've moved to protect you, even though the danger is imaginary._

_ We beg you not to give up hope. No matter what they tell you, you are not mad, nor are you making up tales. _

_ Pete has had this notebook for years and never used it. If you can't talk about Narnia anymore, you can write down your experiences here. That way you will not forget, and hopefully you won't doubt yourself either. _

_ Most importantly, Robin, remember that although you may be separated from us, you have Someone far stronger on your side—and __nobody __can keep Him from you._

_ Call upon Aslan. He can always hear you, and He will never leave you stranded._

_Keep calm and keep the faith,_

_Edmund, King of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table_

_Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion_

Smiling from ear to ear, Robin closed the book, tucked it under his pillow, and lay across it to read his Shakespeare.

"Who gave you that, Kilburn?" Charlie Grey enquired.

Robin shrugged. "I don't know. The card wasn't signed."

"I bet it was a girl," snickered Harry Jones.

Among ten-year-old boys there are few graver insults than those that imply interaction with girls, but Robin was so happy he didn't care.

_Thank you, Aslan. Even in this world you're still looking out for me._


	21. XX: The Harflog Omen

**AN: **I want to take this moment to thank all you wonderful people who have reviewed, favorited, and/or subscribed to this story: MCH (first reviewer), Calyn (who caught a very embarassing editorial error), Laura Andrews (without whose excellent advice I hate to think of how bad this story might be), Eternal Evening, OldFashionedGirl95 (the other sage advisor who has saved this story from the depths of Badficdom), WillowDryad, Louisa4533 (probably my staunchest supporter overall on this site), LostInWonderland72, Saoirse7, the Guest who reviewed on September 22, anniecarrots1, narniagirl11, September Samstar, Qu33nL3fty (previously known as ManhattanNewsie94), xXNovenusPrimeXx, Daisybooks, and Dawgabs. Your continued support means a lot to me, and I'm sorry for never having thanked you publicly before for your feedback. Cookies for everyone! (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)

I apologize profusely for taking so long between updates. All I can say in my defense is a) I've had a LOT of homework to wade through this year, and b) my Narnian muse ran away from me, and only recently has Aslan answered my prayer and brought her back. I will try hard to update more frequently, although given my schedule I can make no definite promises.

The direction of this story is going to change a bit. I discovered that it was taking too long to get back to magic and action, and that people would think based on the previous chapters that it was a school story. So this chapter is quite different from the previous ones, and I apologize for mood whiplash. I'm not entirely happy with it. It's very random. All I can say in its defense is that I just read _Beowulf _in English class and have had mead-halls and battles on the brain for a while.

Also, in this chapter you will see why I moved the rating from K plus to T: violence, scary situations, and occasional gore.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter XX. <em>The Harflog Omen.

In those days the Giants of the North kept court at Harflog, far inland, where the northern-most reaches of the Great Western Wood tapered into the Occasional Tree on the Western Slope. There they remained until the Battle of Mount Heimr, when their stony Western cousins drove them five hundred miles east, where they eventually founded a new capital at Harfang (_Har _meaning "center" in their tongue, _flog _meaning "first", and _fang _meaning "second").

But that was centuries after this story takes place.

All that needs to be known right now is that millennia earlier, Aslan had blessed a circular marble patch in the hillside. Settlers of the Northern Wild could call for help from this Hearing Stone in their hour of need, and if Aslan could not come to their aid Himself, He would send an assistant.

Nothing was left of those settlers now; even help from beyond the world could not save them. After exterminating them (hundreds of years previous) the Giants had built Harflog on that location, its great mead-hall right above the marble patch. They had no idea the spot was there, let alone that it had powers.

…**..**

Today in Harflog there was a great feast, celebrating the birth of the royal heir. Newborn Prince Ulfo was roughly the size of a school bus and lay napping fitfully in the arms of his gargantuan nursemaid.

The din of the celebration could be heard for miles. Sober giant laughter is like foghorns; you can imagine how they sound when they're drunk. Their music is extremely simple—every song is either in 2/4 or 4/4 time (not to imply that they do this knowingly, since they can't read music), and the only instruments are drums (the size of the average automobile), tubas, and some primitive form of synthesizer. They have never heard of harmony, and the lyrics can only be described as "uninspired."

Skobba the royal bard warbled for all he was worth:

_Baby! Baby! Baby! O!_

_ Baby! Baby! Baby! O!_

(That song always brought sentimental tears to King Ullard's eyes).

At the moment, King Ullard was distracted by news from the South.

"So the Little Upstart has vanished, has he?" he roared drunkenly at no one in particular. "And the whole family's gone too? Ah ha. I shall bring those four little Flies before the court, and we shall feast on their flesh come Autumn Feast!"

(By the "Four Flies" he meant the Kings and Queens of Narnia. The "Little Upstart" referred to High King Peter specifically, who had defeated Ullard and his army soundly the previous year).

"Let them cry for 'Aslan' now!" he continued. "My subjects, we shall rise again. We shall bring them war, and this time, we shall not be repelled!" The table shook when he set down his goblet.

Many of the younger male giants started beating their chests and bellowing, as they often do at such a declaration. "Aye, sire! Let's have at the little pests! We'll drive them into the desert and take their sunny farmlands."

"I wouldn't recommend that."

As stupid and drunk as they were, the giants could tell that the one who spoke now was not of their number. The voice was cool and clear, every syllable enunciated, and it seemed to come from a much smaller set of lungs.

Three figures, tiny compared to the hall's occupants, had appeared in the center of the table. Two were female and apparently sickly; one was vomiting and the other tended to her. Underweight and shabbily-dressed, they could be any humans foolish enough to wander this far north, most likely fugitives from slavery on the frontier of the Telmarine Empire. The voice evidently belonged to neither, and King Ullard paid them no heed.

The speaker must then be the strong young armor-clad male, who radiated power not unlike the Narnian monarchs. He looked like a friend of theirs—and by some of their witchcraft he had infiltrated the heart of Harflog during a party in peacetime.

Although Ullard and his cohorts were foggily aware that the man was probably hostile, they were far too drunk to do much about it. Even when giants are sober, they find it hard to take a single human (or human-sized individual) as a serious threat. Why should they, when you or I can be stomped flat like a small rodent?

"O ho, little human prince!" the king boomed. "How did you escape the confines of our pantries?" (He said the last part to save face before the court; he knew full well that the man could not have come from the pantries where human captives awaited slaughter; such a noble prisoner had not passed those confines in a hundred years).

"You know as well as I that I never passed through your heinous pantry," the warrior returned. "I was brought to this spot by the Hearing Stone. You called me."

As previously stated, the Giants knew nothing of the Hearing Stone, let alone that they had built their castle on it. King Ullard, therefore, had no idea what the young man was talking about.

"I never called you, little fool," growled the king. "Only in the sacred days of autumn do we eat the flesh of men. Why would I summon a man when spring is not yet over?"

All the courtiers laughed.

The youth, apparently unfazed, looked up at the craggy face so many times larger than his own. "My father tells me to warn you, son of Ymir, that if you attack Narnia, the Lion's vengeance will crush you as you crush men underfoot. Their doom already approaches. Interfere, and you too will face extermination."

"You threaten me in my own hall, do you?" the king guffawed, and gulped down another six-foot-high pint of mead. "You're a brave little chap, granted."

Queen Mordo, exhausted from the ordeal of childbirth, had been watching all this hazily, but she noticed now that the warrior was getting angrier—he seemed almost to glow. Despite his small size, he gave off the energy of a formidable foe, the same sort of energy as High King Peter of Narnia. She became afraid for herself, her husband, her court, and most of all her baby.

"Guards!" she shouted. "Remove these humans at once!"

Two armored giants lurched forward (stupidly, they had drunk as much as the court they were supposed to protect). One grabbed the two sickly girls. The other reached for the youth—but he seemed to have vanished—

—and then they saw him, perched on the nursemaid's shoulder, his hand resting on the huge forehead of the royal infant.

Baby Ulfo's eyes opened, eerily alert and understanding, and instead of crying, he spoke in the voice of an adult:

"For all the years of your life, O King, step not over the Shribble." The whole hall fell silent and gaped in horror. "For shadow has settled on Narnia, and only by avoiding that land can the race of Ymir survive."

The youth withdrew his hand.

"How dare you use your Southern witchcraft here," the nursemaid hissed. "And on a newborn babe, no less."

The horrible clarity faded from Ulfo's eyes, and he screeched like the infant he was.

His parents and all their subjects joined him in his frightened rage.

"Seize the human!" bellowed the king. "We shall feast on the flesh of this wizard and his companions tonight."

…**.**

Gerdu the cook, keeping the extra food warm, had missed the awful scene in the mead-hall and the pandemonium that followed.

Suddenly a guard burst into the kitchen. "Their Majesties want you to cook these," he rumbled, and dropped the two humans he'd been carrying on the counter near the chopping knives with twelve-foot-long blades. "We're still looking for the third. He's a Narnian wizard, I think! He made the Prince speak! It weren't natural." Having said this he ran back out into the chaos.

Gerdu inspected the humans on her counter. Both female, likely sisters, between ten and twenty years of age, both underweight, and one kept vomiting. The two of them together could barely fill a sandwich for a healthy giant child, and they probably wouldn't taste very good. But the king and queen had commanded…

"What about a cheese sauce?" she mused. "Everything tastes good with a cheese sauce. Even you might."

The elder of the girls started muttering, hands clasped and eyes on the ceiling. Gerdu wondered if maybe she was praying.

The younger sister stared distantly off. Gerdu couldn't tell what she was looking at, and neither did she care.

"Maybe a sweet sauce would be better. I could add some brown sugar, and a little of that orange marmalade from Calormen—"

Next thing the giantess knew, pain was exploding across her hand.

The younger of the girls had somehow dragged over one of the long knives and was driving it down on Gerdu's fingers.

"Hey! Up there!" she shouted. "It appears you are the cook in this establishment."

"Get off at once," the giantess spat.

The girl ignored her. "A cook needs her fingers. Let my sister and I go without any more trouble, and you can keep yours."

"Don't you threaten me. Your wonderful High King isn't coming to rescue you."

"Then you brought it on yourself," retorted the girl. Gerdu was just able to perceive the shrug of her tiny shoulders. The human pushed her meager weight against the blade, and then—_great gods of rock and snow!_—the fat fingers on Gerdu's left hand were chopped at the first knuckle, and the counter on which the giantess slaughtered all sorts of creatures now ran with her own blood.

How she bellowed! Her rage was blinding, and reaching with great swings of her unhurt arm for the girls, she missed them entirely.

Wait! There they were on the far end of the counter, and between them stood a well-shaped human male in armor. Gerdu guessed he must be the one who had caused the stir in the mead-hall.

"Thank your lord and lady for the most entertaining welcome, madam," said he, and mockingly bowed. "I'm afraid we must be going."

Once again Gerdu lunged for them, and once again she was far off the mark.

By the time the other giants heard her above their own din, the humans had long vanished from the grounds of Harflog, and the scouts sent to bring them back in chains were unable to find a trace.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Again, apologies for the wait between chapters and _Beowulf_-inspired randomness! Everything will be explained in the next chapter.

Again, thank you all for your continued support! Feel free to PM me with ideas, suggestions, and improvements.

Don't forget to review! Reviews are little Christmas presents! :-)

And in case I can't update for a while again, _**MERRY CHRISTMAS!**_


	22. XXI: Travin the Warrior

**AN: **Thank you Bronze Cat for subscribing, and a huge thanks to rthestewart for subscribing and so many insightful reviews! Meery Belated Christmas and Happy New Year!

I'm going to follow rthestewart's advice and beef up the earlier chapters with historical detail. I'm also going to work on characterization a bit - especially that of Ben. That said, if there's a reference to something you don't remember reading about, check the earlier chapters for differences.

Anyway, thank you all for your support and here's chapter 22!

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><p>Chapter XXI. <em>Travin the Warrior.<em>

Anna woke to incredible pain in her head and stomach.

Her eyes hurt when they opened involuntarily, and when they closed, harsh sunlight forced itself between the lids.

She took a deep breath. That lessened the allover pain a bit.

She was not in her room at St. Finbar's, or in any room at all. The sunlight came from directly overhead. A fresh breeze swirled around her; she could feel some stray clumps of her hair swirling with it. From the smell and feel, she knew she lay on grassy earth. It felt too warm and bright to be November.

"Kitt?" she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Right here, Ann."

"Where are we?"

Her sister's gruff voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "I don't know. I thought we'd gone to Hell itself last night, but this place where we are right now doesn't seem particularly Hellish."

"Describe it for me. The sun hurts my eyes if I open them."

"Um…we're on a plain. Looking south or east, I can see nothing but grass. Looking north or west, I can see mountains. Here and there are clusters of little purple flowers, and the grass is green; it feels like spring. Pretty, but desolate." She chuckled grimly. "I'd say we're not in Kansas anymore, but for all I know this _is _Kansas, what with the flatland."

"I don't think there are mountains in Kansas, Kitt."

This was acknowledged with a grunt. "Anna, how much do you remember about last night?"

Anna shuddered. She wondered what was worse—opening her eyes and letting sunshine sting them, or keeping them closed while images of last night's ordeal played across the darkness like a film reel.

"I remember we were walking around the school grounds after classes ended but before supper. Lucy Pevensie followed us, until you shot her one of your death glares and she backed away."

"I am good at death glares, aren't I?" Kitt mused. "Death glares, and demonic-possession smiles."

"Don't you act so proud. It's horribly embarrassing when you do that. Lucy's face broke my heart."

"And don't _you _show any sympathy for that spoiled little princess. I told her what her brothers did to Robin, and you know what she said?" Here she assumed a preppy British accent and spoke an octave higher. "'They're not making up tales, Kitt. Narnia is real.'" She laughed bitterly. "Nervy kid. I oughta—"

Anna knew where this was headed and cut in before it got there. "_Anyway, _we kept walking. You cried out suddenly. You said that you felt like someone was pulling your hair and your clothes. You asked if I felt it, and I did feel it as soon as I told you I didn't. I saw stars and I got sick. Next thing I knew we were in that horrible room with the giant people. One of them grabbed us and deposited us with the one with the knives. And you—you took a knife, and you—you—"

"I chopped its fingers off," Kitt finished, the tremble in her voice becoming more pronounced. "And its blood went all over. Then Travin found us, and we ran for what felt like hours…and, uh, here we are, I guess."

"Travin is the man in armor?"

"Yes."

"Is he still here?"

"He should be back in a few minutes. He said he was off to catch something to eat."

"Can we trust him?"

"I don't think we have much choice."

Anna attempted to open her eyes again; this time the sting was more bearable. She squinted, taking in the scene Kitt had described. Overall it seemed to be a prairie, but the short, stunted grasses and plants reminded her of pictures she'd seen of the Alaskan tundra. The northwest horizon was edged in mountains, jagged and grey against the sky like charcoal drawings edging a watercolor.

She was struck most by the colors. Somehow the grass here was greener, the sky was bluer, and the sun was yellower and more burning than she could ever remember it being.

Her sister sat cross-legged on the short grass about three feet away. Kitt had rolled up the sleeves of her school blouse, and her necktie was wound around her left forearm as a bandage. Her legs and face were scraped and dirty; her maroon school blazer was tied by its arms around her waist.

Anna stood. She'd been lying horizontally so long that the blood had drained out of her legs, and she felt it rush down with a tingle as her feet made contact with the ground. Looking at herself, she discovered she too was covered in dirt and her legs were scratched with trickles of dried blood from the knee down.

"Maybe we're in Purgatory," she mused.

"Maybe."

"Can you think of any other possibilities?"

"We could be dreaming."

The sisters' eyes locked as another horrible option floated into both their minds at once.

They were spared from verbalizing it because they caught sight of their mysterious companion striding towards them at that moment. Considering how flat the terrain was, they could see him approaching from a long way off.

He was tall and in top physical condition. Given her interest in art, Kitt knew a little about the clothing of different times; she decided his bronze armor (which was molded to his torso and left his chiseled arms bare) looked more Greco-Roman than medieval. A black cloak was fastened to his shoulders.

As he got closer it became clear that he was between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five and had a handsome, if sharply-drawn, face. His hair was quite red and fell to his shoulders in curls.

He was also extremely well-armed: a short sword was fastened at his waist, while two long ones were fastened crossed on his back (the girls could see the hilts) in addition to a bow and quiver, and two daggers were concealed in each of his buskins. In each hand he carried a prairie chicken carcass. A bundle of kindling was tucked under one arm.

"There's a whole flock hereabouts, and they are fat from the scraps of Giantish feasts," he stated. "After we have some breakfast, we should move. By nightfall I hope to have covered ten miles."

He dropped the dead birds and the kindling near the girls. "Has either of you prepared one of these before?"

"We've plucked birds, yes," Anna replied. Before the Depression hit, when she was very little, the Kilburns had kept chickens in their backyard, and years later, as the Depression rolled on, they'd had to eat those poor dear pet chickens. Even now the memory threatened to make her eyes water.

"Can you start a fire, Kitt?" the stranger asked.

"Sure. But won't the Giants see it?"

"Highly unlikely. There are none for miles, and anyway their eyesight is poor—they probably can't see a faraway fire at all on a sunny day like this."

…**..**

Anna took one still-warm carcass and began to pluck its white-and-brown striped feathers carefully. The stranger sat near her and did the same to the other bird, while Kitt held her cigarette lighter to the pile of kindling a few feet away. Usually Anna would have been annoyed to see that thing in her sister's hand—she thought she'd cured her of smoking before they'd left Michigan—but at the moment it was highly useful.

"Your name is Anna, correct?" the stranger asked.

She nodded, trying to place his accent. It sounded closest to aristocratic British, but there was a hint of ancient wildness to it that you'd never hear in the voice of an upper-class English gentleman. "Yes. You're Travin, my sister informs me."

"Indeed. She tells me that you come from a dull-colored world, impoverished, broken by war, and completely drained of magic."

Anna bit her lip. Although she had endured many hardships during the Depression and the War, it was still tempting to scream when her fingers found the prairie chicken's bumpy, de-feathered skin. "That's right…wait, what do you mean 'drained of magic'?"

He looked up from his work and stared at her blankly, as if she'd asked him whether water was wet. "Could that statement mean anything but what it appears to mean?"

She resumed plucking. "You're saying you believe in magic?"

"You don't?"

"Considering what happened to my world, it's hard enough to believe in God, let alone fairy tales." She added in a whisper, "Don't tell Kitt I said that; she's practically an atheist already and I don't want to push her any further down that road. She can't know my doubts."

"Were you in the middle of the war your sister mentioned?"

"Our father died in it."

"How close to the fighting were you?"

This elicited a pause from Anna. "Thousands of miles. There was only one actual attack on our country, and it fell on an island far removed from where we lived. When my father perished, he was over an ocean away."

"So then—although I'm by no means belittling the loss of your father, or the sacrifices your country made for the war, which by your sister's description were heavy indeed—you must conclude that there was some Grace, some Mystery, that by locating you so far from the war itself, spared you the horrors of imprisonment, dishonor, torture, death, and a homeland wasted with the blood of its own people and its enemies combined."

The wisdom of these words seemed to come over her slowly, though in truth it only took about a minute. She glanced at him quizzically; he looked back with understanding. His eyes were the color of the darkest storm clouds.

"You're absolutely right," she said at last. "Indeed…there must be Someone who cares about us."

He smirked kindly in reply.

She started again at her disagreeable task. "Of course, that has nothing to do with magic."

"I beg to differ, but it has _everything _to do with magic."

"How so?"

He chose not to answer.

"Travin, do you mind if I change the subject?"

"No."

"Where are we?"

"We're on the great plain of Ettinsmoor. I'm afraid we're still in Giant territory, but their settlements are extremely spread out, so we might (Aslan willing) make it to our destination without any trouble."

"And what's our destination?"

"Before I was called here I was told my presence was requested in the Empty Lands—that's where the borders of Telmar, Ettinsmoor, Narnia, and the Mrekani Alliance meet, in the very center of both the Western Mountains and the Wood. Since you and Kitt were summoned along with me I assume that whoever summoned me wants you there too."

"Can you list the countries these Empty Lands border again?"

"Telmar, Ettinsmoor, the Mrekani Alliance, and Narnia. Why?"

_Narnia. _

Anna didn't realize she'd dropped her bird into a pile of its own plucked feathers. She just stared at Kitt, still busy building the fire, until she caught her sister's eye and mouthed that word, that lovely little Italian-sounding word that they had grown to hate.

_Narnia._

Robin had been telling the truth all along.

…**..**

They ate the first prairie chicken and prepared the other to be eaten when they stopped again, then packed up, put out the fire and started moving. Although the flavor was a bit foreign, it was just as good as domestic chicken once you got used to it, and anyway anything tastes good when you're as hungry as Anna, Kitt, and Travin were.

They walked for most of the day, stopping to rest their legs and take a sip of water from the skin Travin had brought.

Although they were aware that Giants and other enemies might be around, the girls experienced a strange, unexplainable feeling of well-being that grew steadily as the day progressed. By the time the afternoon declined into evening, Anna also had tied her blazer around her waist to feel the delightful breeze on her bare arms, and both sisters had let their hair out of the tight braids that they wore at school.

When the sun was hovering over the westward peaks and the sky was turning yellow towards the horizon, they found a thin stand of young trees and decided to camp there. Travin went ahead to scout out the area, which the two girls were grateful for as it allowed them to talk about their familial problem.

Kitt shook her head. "Look, I can believe there's a country called Narnia in whatever this is—world? Universe?—that we've been pulled into, but Robin must have been making some of it up. Case in point, the talking animals. I'll eat my hat if I meet one, and I'll _really_ be doggoned if they really worship that Lion person, Axman or whatever Rob called him."

"You don't have a hat to eat, Kitt. Don't say 'doggone'; you sound like Ben or one of his band-mates. Anyway, if there is more than one universe, then who's to say there are no talking animals or the other things he mentioned?"

"I suppose you're right, sis." Kitt lifted something off her neck that looked like a necklace at first. The crucifix pendant dangled, looking like a portion of the black night had already begun to eat its way through the sunset.

"Your rosary!" Anna exclaimed. "But I saw Jenny Featherstone break it..."

"She only broke my second-favorite. This is my favorite, and I keep it hidden as you saw. Do you want it?"

"No thanks, I have my own with me. I'll be praying tonight."

"So shall I."

Kitt then did something Anna did not expect—she flung her arms around her and held her tight.

"We'll be ok, Ann," she mumbled. "We've made it through worse, right?"

This depended on how you defined _worse _(some might consider being flung into another universe more miserable than all the toils of poverty and war), but Anna was glad her sister was the hopeful one for once.

…**..**

Travel became rougher as they drew closer to the mountains. This was due to the increasingly uneven terrain and the sudden multitude of trees; luckily, they had not seen any Giants since the escape from Harflog.

Nonetheless, Travin prepared the girls for when they once again had to fight for their lives (he said it was when, not if). When they stopped at nightfalls and in the mornings before they were quite ready to resume their trek, he instructed them in the use of his weapons. Anna, who had stronger arms, showed more affinity for the bow, while Kitt with her quick reflexes was apparently better suited to the sword.

Travin spoke with economy—when he wasn't teaching them how to fight, he barely said two words together.

In bits and pieces they learned he came from a faraway kingdom. He knew this territory but had not been here in a few years. His parents were some sort of monarchs, and he was the head of their army. He had several siblings, particularly a sweet twin sister whom he loved dearly. He was learned in the art of war. His foes, all vanquished and dead, included dragons, ogres, trolls, witches, werewolves, and vampires.

The more he told them, the more Kitt admired him and the more Anna feared him.

All attempts to learn more about him—his age, the names of his family or homeland, exactly what wars he'd participated in—were solidly rebuffed.

When the girls lagged behind him or he left them at the campsite to scout, they discussed his mystery.

"Have you noticed his eyes glow in the dark?" Kitt asked. "They turn silver."

"Human eyes don't do that," her sister agreed.

"Do you think he's a werewolf, and he just told us about killing werewolves to put us off our guard?"

"Maybe. Then again, I always thought their eyes turned red, or is it gold?" Anna shrugged. "I don't even think Travin is his real name."

Kitt nodded in agreement. "I remember Bud told me that a good criminal picks an alias that's close to their own name. Maybe he's really a Travis."

"Hmm. It doesn't suit him, but then Katherine doesn't suit you either. Do you really think he's a criminal?"

Both sisters shot a cautious glance in the direction Travin had disappeared into.

"I'm not sure," Kitt whispered. "He just seems to know a lot about killing."

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>There was another _Bud, Not Buddy _reference in there for those who caught it. :-)

Any guesses to Travin's true identity? (Hint: he's mentioned in canon a few times but never seen).


	23. XXII: The Empty Lands

**AN: **Just a word about the title change. I renamed this fic _Witnesses _because I thought it suited the story better than _End of an Era, _which is ambiguous and a bit cliche. I hope this hasn't caused any confusion.

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><p>Chapter XXII. <em>The Empty Lands.<em>

In this guarded manner they journeyed Southwest. By Anna's count, they had been pulled from England five days ago.

"Ben and Robin must be worried sick," she mused.

Although concerned about her brothers, she found it strangely hard to fret. Something about the air in this world made you feel like everything would fall into place, so long as you did your best.

"Maybe not," replied Kitt. "Remember when Robin came here? He said he'd been gone a week, and the kitchen clock said he'd been gone a minute and a half."

"I hope that's the case. The last thing he needs is more people disappearing on him. How do you suppose we'll get back?"

"Probably the same way we came in—painful, scary, and completely out of our hands."

…**..**

Two days later, they came upon a sign carved into the mountain-face:

_YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE EMPTY LANDS. KNOW, WAYWARD ONE, THAT WHATEVER AUTHORITY OR PROTECTION YOU POSSESS IN YOUR HOMELAND HAS NO MEANING HERE. UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO FIGHT AND DIE, YOU ARE KINDLY ADVISED TO RETURN HOME. _

_BY CONTRACT OF KING AGRIAN VII OF TELMAR, KING MOLDUR OF ETTINSMOOR, CHIEF PRIEST KIRO OF THE MREKANI ALLIANCE, AND QUEEN SWANWHITE OF NARNIA, WITNESSED BY THE HOLY CHLORIS OF THE WESTERN MARCH, AT THIS SPOT, ON THE FIFTH DAY OF THE NINTH MONTH IN THE YEAR 785 SINCE THE CREATION OF THE WORLD._

"Fear not, we're prepared to fight and die," said Travin cheerfully. The girls blinked at him, alert and trying not to show their fear.

"Exactly why did we come here?" Kitt asked.

…

After a day of trekking through these Empty Lands, they had yet to see any sign of human habitation. In fact, excepting a large red squirrel, they had not even seen anything that moved.

"Does anyone live here?" Anna asked Travin. Dusk approached, and she began imagining enemies behind every tree and in every shadow.

"Yes, though you can gather from the inscription on the rock-face that they're not supposed to. Most are Telmarine settlers. Telmar is overpopulated, and they are bordered by an inland sea that makes moving West difficult (they fear water and their navy is third-rate). The North of this world is hostile, as you saw. If they push South, they run into Calormen, and though Telmar is a powerful empire, Calormen could swallow them whole. That leaves East.

"The Telmarines and the Forest People—the Mrekani Alliance—have never been great friends, but for the past century they've had a common enemy in Jadis, the tyrannical sorceress known throughout this world as the White Witch. Her empire included all Narnia, the Northern half of Archenland, and her Westward expansion was only hindered by these very mountains.

"After a hundred years, Aslan returned from over Sea, killed Jadis, and restored the human monarchy. Although the Four Thrones are effective rulers, they are not cruel as Jadis was; nor do they possess supernatural powers. They do not frighten Telmar. Also, they are friendly with the Mrekani, and give their refugees safe harbor, which makes Telmar furious.

"So the Telmarines, especially the impoverished ones, keep pushing East despite the laws against it. Run-ins with the Mrekani and sometimes the Narnians turn violent; Giants don't come here often but when they do they cause havoc. We were probably summoned to deal with a land dispute."

"But what about Queen Swanwhite and King Agrian and the others on the inscription? Won't they enforce a penalty for breaking that law?"

"A Narnian who permanently settles this land is jailed for a year; a Mrekani will be exiled and not allowed to participate in worship for a year, which is to them a fate worse than death. The Giants have no laws at all to speak of, and the Telmarine government turns a blind eye to the broken treaty. This would greatly trouble Kiro, Agrian and Swanwhite if they still lived—they were better people in a better world. When they died, even the Witch had not come."

A pause followed as Anna processed all this information.

"Are you sure we'll have to fight?" she asked.

"If there were no need for violence, my sister would have been summoned, not me."

"But Kitt and I aren't soldiers like you. If we fight…" she took a deep breath, "…we will probably die."

He smiled sympathetically and laid a kind hand on her shoulder. "If Aslan wants you to live, you live, and if He wants you to die, you die. Trust that He has a plan."

"You mention this person a lot. Who is Aslan?"

"I think you know who He is, Anna. You know Him in your world by Another Name."

She would have asked him to elaborate but at that moment they heard voices up ahead, one of which they recognized.

…**..**

Kitt had run ahead. It was rash, but Kitt was rash, and too eager to test her nascent skills with a blade.

She froze when she saw a figure under one of the trees—a handsome, copper-skinned youth dressed in the colors of the forest. His hair was longer than hers, blacker and shinier than she'd thought humanly possible. He sat cross-legged between the tree's roots, eyes closed. He made no acknowledgment of Kitt's approach, and she knew her steps were too heavy not to hear.

She stepped a little closer, narrowing her eyes till she could see the slight movement of his chest. He was not dead.

Interesting. He was asleep or perhaps meditating.

Kitt wondered which country he belonged to. From Travin's description, Mrekani and Narnians were friends, Telmarines were enemies.

She turned around and started jogging back to tell Anna and Travin that they must be approaching a settlement—

—when someone grabbed her wrist in iron fingers from behind.

The selfsame youth turned her around roughly, placing a dagger under her chin. "Where do you come from? Speak! And be soft of speech, for our mission depends on silence and secrecy." His own voice was barely thicker than a hiss.

"I'm just passing through," she whispered.

"From where? Who sent you?"

She swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat press against the dagger. "I don't know who sent me. Travin keeps mentioning someone named Aslan."

"Aslan?" The youth kept his grip on her wrist, but he removed the dagger. "I see you came from the North. Are you a settler from Narnia or Archenland? Or a Telmarine refugee?"

"Er…I was raised up North, but my parents came from Arc…Archenland." (Later she realized Aslan must have made her say that; Robin had also claimed to be from Archenland, so the Kilburns' alibis were consistent).

"Are there more in your party?"

"Yes, a sister and a brother," came the voice of Travin from behind them, unsheathing one of his swords. "Know, sir, that if you intend to inflict violence on any of our persons—"

"I only inflict violence when violence is done to me."

"Then unhand my sister. I can tell from your voice and face that you are one of the Forest People, and we bear you no ill will unless your national character has greatly changed since last I saw you."

The boy let go of Kitt and studied Travin's face. "Since last you saw me? I never have looked upon you or your sisters before."

"I meant since last I saw your people."

The stranger, still confused, bowed. "I am Turnus Etano, Knight of the Most Righteous Order of the Wolf. Tell me your names."

"I am Travin Bram-son, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion. My sisters are Anna and Kitt. They have yet to prove their mettle in war."

The girls bowed nervously. Kitt's wrist was still sore from Turnus' grip.

"Kitt said that Aslan sent you."

"Well, not quite," Kitt mumbled.

Travin ruffled her hair in a brotherly manner. "The three of us have concluded that the manner of our leaving home and the resulting journey were so strange as to leave no other explanation."

Turnus pondered, his coal-dark eyes secretive. "Come with me. My friends and I will decide what we think of you."

…**..**

He led them through the forest silent as a shadow. Behind him, Anna and Kitt felt as loud as elephants.

Travin put one arm around each girl, helping them keep up and creating an illusion of a tight-knit family.

The sisters' fear increased with every step. Night fell around them heavy with dread. By now, they knew all they could do was pray for mercy.

…**.**

They arrived on the edge of a small clearing, barely lit by the tiniest of campfires.

A hooded guard demanded a password of Turnus; it was returned in a whisper that neither girl could catch. The guard then looked over the three strangers.

"They claim to have been sent here by Aslan," Turnus explained.

The watchman nodded. "Until we know for sure, I request that you hand over your weapons. When we are assured your allegiance lies with us, I will return them to you."

This seemed to annoy Travin, but he complied. When he was finally done removing all weapons from his person, the sisters handed over the daggers they had been loaned. With great regret Kitt gave the short sword she was growing so fond of into the guard's keeping.

Around the fire or in the shadows sat a small crowd (about thirty people) talking earnestly in low voices. It was hard to see much detail of them in this light; their voices sounded young. Kitt judged that most if not all were male.

One man seemed to dominate the conversation. "Tomorrow at first light we take our canoes upriver. We wait for cover of darkness and then—"

"Sander old chap, we're too late," drawled someone whose voice seemed to drip downward. "They've probably been taken over the border by now, likely all split up and sold to different households, most likely _dead, _I shouldn't wonder."

"You are always so encouraging, Mudshanks," said one of the only female voices. "Without your high spirits I don't know how we should have the heart to rise in the morning."

"This is no time for sarcasm, Greenblade!" cried the first speaker. "And you, Marsh-dweller, had better have stayed home if you only came to predict the worst. Think of our friends and kin, now captive and enduring Aslan knows what horrors; think of the countless others who have been slain in their beds, starved by colonial bureaucracy or killed slowly in slavery. Think of the great insult these Telmarines pay to both Narnia and the Alliance by their repeated violations of law and honor. Princes of Archenland, know that if the Alliance and Narnia fall, that wicked people will push on to your country; I doubt even that will satisfy their greed. The time for bargaining has passed. Tomorrow night, Fort Tirian must be ours."

"I agree with Sander," said another male. There was a lilt in his voice that hinted he sang more than he spoke. "All of you know we both abhor the spilling of blood, but if I must kill, it should be those who would dishonor my sister and the women and children who were taken with her."

"Ha! I have no inhibitions about snuffing these spawn of Tash," added another. "Let me lead the charge. The streets will run with Telmarine blood."

"Temper your eagerness, Corin," Turnus interjected, "or you may find yourself rallying the border-guards while the rest of us take the Fort. Now, friends, may I divert your attention to these three wanderers whom I chanced upon less than a mile from here. Travin Bram-son, Anna Bram-daughter, and Kitt Bram-daughter, settlers of the wasted North. They claim to have been sent by the Lion Himself."

The people around the campfire studied the strangers.

"The young man will be helpful, I'm sure," said the down-dripping voice; it apparently belonged to an oily-skinned male with a huge nose. "But neither girl has held a weapon in her life, I shouldn't wonder."

"Is it that obvious?" Anna smiled nervously.

"I've used an axe," Kitt countered. "The neighbors would give me a nickel to slaughter their chickens."

"Nickel?" asked another female voice.

Kitt sighed, remembering where she was. "A very small unit of money."

"Like a minim?" the same girl inquired.

"Um, yeah, exactly like a minim." Kitt wasn't sure what a minim was, but it sounded about right.

"You have awfully strange accents," remarked the male who wanted to drench the streets in Telmarine blood. "You don't sound like any Narnians I've met, even Ettinsmoor settlers."

"You got a problem with that?" Kitt returned dryly.

Anna rolled her eyes and placed a restraining hand on her sister's arm. Although that was probably the worst possible thing to say at that moment, part of Anna was relieved to see her sister's feistiness return.

"Young lady, control your temper; Corin, don't antagonize her," Turnus cut in. "I too find their sudden appearance suspicious. I will interrogate them properly."

…

Travin lead Turnus to the edge of the clearing; the sisters could hear them whispering urgently but could not make out what was said.

After about three minutes they returned to the firelight. Travin once again put his arms around the sisters' shoulders and steered them along with him. He was smiling, and apparently had most of his weapons back.

"I have spoken with Travin Bram-son," Turnus announced to his comrades, "and I have concluded that he and his sisters are indeed the helpers I requested of Aslan."

"That was quick," muttered the oily-skinned fellow.

"He showed me the proof I needed," Turnus returned evenly. "This proof will be revealed to all of you when the time comes. Meantime, please feed them. Anna and Kitt will also need proper-sized weapons, but that can wait till morning."

…

The food—hard bread, cheese blocks, and leftover chicken—was rough, but the sisters were quite used to that by now.

"I actually think food here is more flavorful," Anna whispered. "Slow down, Kitt, or you'll get sick. Take smaller bites."

"I can't tell you how glad I am that some more women showed up," said the person called Greenblade, sitting down on Anna's other side. "It was just Sofie, Geanna, Aravis, Peppertail and me against thirty stupid boys; like being stuck between a dragon's lungs. I speak from experience."

"I believe you, even though that has (thank God!) never happened to me," Anna replied. "We have two more brothers at home, and no more sisters."

"You poor thing! I have one brother, and he's ox-brained enough for three." She stuck out her hand to shake. "I remember your name is Anna, and your sister is Kitt. I'm Daphne."

"Then why do they call you Greenblade?" Kitt inquired with her mouth full.

"That's my knight name. The full version is Lady Daphne Greenblade, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table. I'd much rather be called 'Sir' than 'Lady' though. I hate sharing my title with those paper dolls who spend their days fixing Queen Rowena's hair."

"So girls can be knights here?" Kitt sounded enthralled.

"Of course! There are few of us, but there's no law against it."

"Daphne, what's going on?" Anna asked. "Are we in the middle of a war?"

"The way things are going, we will be soon. Surely you two are aware of Telmarine encroachment on Mrekani land?"

"Of course."

"You're aware that lately settlers have been kidnapping Mrekani and Narnians who stray too close to these borders and selling them deep into Telmar as slaves?"

Anna swallowed. "Yes, I was aware of that too," she lied.

"See, Aravis and the Princes have come up from Archenland for the month visiting the Queen. I was in the capital at the time, waiting for an adventure, and when they came I suggested to Her Majesty that we take a hiking trip through Lantern Waste.

"She refused to participate. A lot of the nobles are frightened of Lantern Waste now; that's where the Kings and Queens disappeared, after all. But Aravis and Cor and Corin are brave, so we set off from the Cair about ten days ago.

"In Lantern Waste we met Turnus and his crew. They were conducting what he called a 'spiritual investigation' of the area and did not appreciate the interruption. For nearly three years now some of the Forest People have been 'investigating' the disappearance of the Four Thrones, but if they've come up with anything no Narnian has been told. I pray to Aslan that we can trust them; they've been good allies for a long time." She shivered.

"We were all met then by a party of minstrels, pale and raw-nerved. Sofie and Geanna's sister Simanel and some of her friends, including several Mrekani girls and young children, were taking livestock to market at Beaversdam when they were kidnapped by Telmarine slavers. They were traced over the Empty Lands border but not beyond. Simanel's family lives far from any town, so her sisters and brother and their minstrel friends came back into Narnia proper seeking help. As fate would have it, my party and Turnus' were the first they met.

"Needless to say we were all furious. Turnus left the spiritual investigation in the care of an older man, while he and some other youths joined our party and the minstrels, and we've been travelling westward ever since. The Telmarines have set up Fort Tirian here in the Empty Lands, which breaks Chloris' Treaty. Our plan is to barter with the Fort to let our friends go and hope that all will end peacefully. But given Telmarine tempers, there will likely be bloodshed no matter what we do.

"I can't say the prospect saddens me. I hate that people deeply. I think they have forfeited their rights as children of Aslan."

"What happens tomorrow?" Kitt asked.

"That depends on what Turnus decides," Daphne replied. "He says he'll meditate tonight. He'll organize tomorrow around what Aslan tells him. Expect to go to battle."

"We've never fought before," Anna whispered.

Daphne punched her shoulder as a brother might. "If Aslan is on our side—which I'm sure He is—we have nothing to fear."

…**.**

Anna lay awake that night, puzzling over all the information that had been thrown at her during the day. Tears of exhaustion and fear ran down the edges of her cheekbones into the grass she lay upon.

A soft spring nocturnal breeze fluttered over her and the whole campsite. It should have felt divine; if one must sleep outside, it's best on such a night as that.

But the blissful temperature and outdoor beauty brought Anna no pleasure.

From all sides she could hear the others snoring; one man also talked in his sleep, mainly repeating the phrase "or I'll box you." No one was awake but the three people on watch (she could see their cloaked backs) and Turnus, who sat alert in the clearing's center. He chanted, so low that even if Anna spoke that language she would not caught the words.

That was not what kept her awake.

She and Kitt were trapped in another universe, one whose technology was medieval, one where man-eating giants and God only knew what other horrors existed. They were expected to join what promised to be a massacre if not a full-fledged war, despite their youth and their lack of training. There was no way to return home, except possibly being yanked from this world by the same cosmic force that had so roughly deposited them here.

Her fingertips clung to the beads of her rosary, a gift from her deceased Irish grandmother many, many years ago. She didn't dare whisper the prayers aloud, but she recited them in her head. Their repetitive words soothed her, driving out the voices of the giants who shouted through her newest nightmares, but would they help?

_Dear Lord, Kitt and I have nothing to lose. Still, I beg You to keep us safe in this foreign land. If the battle can be avoided, please don't let it happen. If it cannot be avoided, please spare our lives. If we must die, please take our souls to dwell with You. _

_ Also, Lord, please let us return to our own world, and our brothers. Don't let them worry about us. Reassure them in our absence. Don't worry Aunt Polly either; she's a dear and I'd hate to cause her pain or trouble._

She stared blurry-eyed and heavy-lidded at the stars above her. No night sky in our world was so clear or starry, except perhaps those she'd seen on those long-ago camping trips before the Depression.

Though she knew it was futile, she searched for familiar constellations. One looked like a misshapen Big Dipper, but other than that they were all quite alien.

_Lord, if Kitt and I never see Robin again, please tell him we're sorry for not believing him about this place. _

Anna's eyes wandered sluggishly up until they rested on the North Star. Recognizing it, she smiled for the first time in what felt like years, and at last fell asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Turnus, Daphne and any other names you don't recognize are OCs unless otherwise noted. Travin is technically an OC Stand-In (feel free to guess his true identity; it won't be revealed for a few chapters yet).

Queen Rowena, who hasn't had a named appearance yet, belongs to the amazing OldFashionedGirl95, who was kind enough to give me permission to borrow her. Thank you, OFG95! *round of applause*

Please review!


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